


Christmas with the Coulsons

by marieadriana



Series: ARROW, Inc. [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Druids, Established Relationship, F/M, Insecure Clint, Insecure Phil, M/M, Multi, Telepathic Bond, insecure natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 49,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marieadriana/pseuds/marieadriana
Summary: Committed triad Clint, Phil, and Natasha take a rare two-week vacation after six months together to spend Christmas with Phil's family.  (Takes place in Dec 2010.)





	1. Chapter 1

Agent Phil Coulson stood at ease in front of his superior’s desk, hands loose at his side and posture unthreatening. Nick Fury knew better.

“You want what?” he asked incredulously.

“I’d like two weeks off for Christmas, sir.”

Fury stared at his second-in-command. “You haven’t taken Christmas off since you joined SHIELD.”

“Yes, sir. My sisters have reminded me of that fact,” he answered, with just enough dry humor to make Fury relax.

“I’d forgotten your sisters,” Fury admitted. “How many nieces and nephews are you up to now?”

Phil did a quick tally in his head – Darla had two boys and three girls, Megan had three boys and two girls, and Sarah had twin girls. He added Cooper and Lila Barton to his tally – surely they counted as niece and nephew. “Six nephews, eight nieces, ranging from eight months to eleven years.”

“Christ, you’re a brave man,” Nick said, shaking his head. Phil gave him a crooked smile. “You going to take this mystery significant other of yours with you to meet the family?”

Phil had been waiting for the question, and had run through a dozen answers in preparation for this conversation. What came out of his mouth, though, wasn’t one of his planned responses. “I was hoping to take Barton and Romanoff.”

Fury’s eye fixed on Phil. “Any particular reason why?”

Phil forced a smile, one that he let look slightly wicked. “My parents live in a conservative town. If I show up with two very attractive individuals and refuse to speak to whether one of them is my lover… well, it’ll scandalize the gossips and satisfy those who think I’d never amount to anything. If there’s enough fuss, it’ll be another ten years before they insist on my presence for Christmas again.”

Fury let out a bark of laughter that would have surprised most of his subordinates. “You’re a devious man, Phil.”

“I have my moments,” Phil agreed easily. “I know it’s only been six months since my last vacation—”

“Phil.” Nick stopped him with one upraised hand. “Even when I complain about you not being within five minutes of the office at every waking moment, I’m glad that you’re taking more time. I get fewer recruits dropping from exhaustion now that you’re getting laid regularly.”

“I’m delighted that my romantic engagements can be of benefit to SHIELD,” Phil with perfect solemnity.

“I’ll approve your leave. Barton and Romanoff too.” Fury took the forms from Phil, glanced at them, and signed them. “Try not to let them commit any felonies in Wisconsin.”

~ * ~

Phil dropped the signed forms on the kitchen table in front of Natasha. She picked them up, a smile spreading across her face. “When do we leave?”

“Anytime,” Phil said, loosening his tie. He automatically checked the bolt on the door he’d closed behind him – locked, of course – before pulling her close for a deep, intimate kiss. Her eyes were half closed when they separated. “Where’s Clint?” He wandered into the kitchen of their current escape – a small studio apartment rented under one of their many aliases – and opened the refrigerator. “Beer?”

She nodded, and he popped the cap off the bottle before handing it to her. “He’s running that latest batch of recruits through the obstacle course tonight. Should be home by 2200.” She tilted her head to one side, listening to Clint’s mental comment. “If you want to leave as soon as he gets back, I can pack for him.”

“Let’s leave in the morning.” He settled into the chair next to her at the table, one hand moving up to run his fingers through her hair. “I could use a relaxed night in with my favorite people.”

Natasha smiled the soft, private smile that very few people were privileged enough to see. “As could I.” She stood up from the table, beer in hand, and offered him her other hand. He rose, clasped her hand, and followed her to the couch. At her gesture, he settled himself in the corner and she slid next to him, twisting until she could recline against him, nestled between his outstretched legs and with her head on his chest. He sighed in deep contentment and kissed the top of her head.

Many people would have reached for the TV remote or a book, wanting to fill the silence somehow, but the pair did neither. Gradually, Phil felt the tension in his body relax, his mind reaching a state of calm he used to think of as exclusive to meditation.

~ * ~

“Pick it up,” Clint snapped at the recruit in front of him, who was lagging behind his teammates. 

The team leader, a willowy blonde who would probably wind up playing honeytraps undercover, glared at him over her shoulder. Rather than verbally respond to his comment, she dropped back herself until she was abreast of the laboring recruit, and matched her pace to his. Gradually the remainder of the squad – eight in total, three women and five men – dropped back as well.

Clint’s expression didn’t change, but he was smiling inwardly. {Sunshine, tell Phil he was right about this batch.} He replayed the scene in his mind for Natasha, listening to her amusement.

{He says to keep an eye on the leader – he called her Buffy but I think he’s joking.}

{Her last name is Summers. Her parents are not so cruel as to saddle her with Buffy too.} Clint’s mental voice quivered with merriment. {It’s not much better, though. Misty Summers.} He almost couldn’t contain his grin at Natasha’s whoop of laughter. {I’m tuning you back out or I’ll trip over my feet,} Clint told her.

{You going to be upset if I ravish our treorai in your absence?}

{Wistfully jealous, but not upset,} Clint assured her. {We’ve been over this before, Sunshine.}

{Yeah, well. You have your issues, I’ve got mine.} He’d said those words to her on their flight back from the jungle where he’d been Chosen, and in the past six months they’d become a kind of code.

Clint managed to turn his chuckle into a cough, hoping the recruits didn’t notice. {Have fun.} He let the contact with her mind drop, though he still felt her presence as a solid bulwark.

He ran the trainees through the obstacle course repeatedly, until several of them were trembling with fatigue, and finally gestured for them to follow him into one of the co-ed locker rooms. He stripped out of his tactical gear with no modesty and was soon clean and dressing in civilian clothes. “Anyone want to tell me what you did wrong on the course?” Clint asked casually. He had one foot propped up on a bench, tying his shoelaces.

As he expected, there was a quiet grumble from the group. The verbal response came from another recruit, one Clint had mentally assigned as the second-in-command. “We started out running as competitors and not as a team.” He was stocky and a few years older than the rest of the recruits – ex-Marine, if Clint was any judge of posture.

“You didn’t tell us it was a team exercise!” one of the other recruits protested. Clint let his eyes fall on the recruit but didn’t speak. After a moment of imperturbable scrutiny, one of the other female recruits spoke.

“You didn’t appoint a chain of command,” she said quietly. “How were we supposed to know whose orders to follow?”

Clint did laugh now, and let them see that it was genuine amusement. “I didn’t have to appoint a leader, or a second.” He shut his locker, leaning back against it. 

“Misty,” the straggling recruit said. The blonde woman turned to look at him with one eyebrow raised, and he shrugged. “You dropped back so that I wasn’t behind anymore, and the rest followed you. Means we were treating you as our commander in the field, even if we didn’t know it.”

“Good eye,” Clint approved. “You’re Mackey, right? Lance?” The straggler nodded. “I nipped at the heels of the weakest pack member, and the alpha circled around to make it right. The fact that none of you did it under orders from me or Agent Coulson tells me that, as usual, he’s right.”

“Right about what, sir?” Mackey asked.

Clint grinned. “Tony Stark’s superpower might be money and building mechanical marvels, but Agent Coulson’s superpower is putting the right people together to make a team that’s stronger than its individual parts. Personally, I’d lay money down on building teams over tech any day.”

“He really think this crew,” and the ex-Marine gestured at the other recruits, “can be a team? Fully functional, field-ready?”

“I can’t speak for him, but it sure looks that way.”

A disbelieving snort from the third female recruit caused him to tense, posture straightening until he was focused on her, his expression closed. “Something you want to say, McNair?” he asked in a dangerous voice.

The woman shrugged, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder and looking up insolently at him. “Heard you speak for Agent Coulson on the regular,” she drawled, sing-songing the name like a playground taunt.

Before Clint could react, Summers had her hand against McNair’s throat. “You want to rephrase that?”

Another shrug, this time adding innuendo to the insolence. The ex-marine – Bellamy, Clint remembered finally – also stepped to McNair, putting a heavy hand on her shoulder. She angled away from him. “Ain’t a secret, the way you three are peas in a pod,” McNair continued. “Must get real tight in that office of his.”

“Probationary Agent McNair!” The strident voice startled all but Clint, who’d seen the director slip into the shadows when they’d entered the locker room. Fury strode forward, visible eye fixed on his target. “This agency does not tolerate such behavior. You are insolent and insulting. Report to my office immediately. If you’re lucky, by the time I get up there, I’ll have decided just to punish you. If you aren’t lucky, you’ll be out of a job.” Fury pointed at the door, and the now-silent McNair exited.

Clint eyed the director, letting himself sink back into the casual cross-armed pose he’d held before McNair had spoken. He wasn’t certain if the man was protecting him, Phil, the agency, or some combination thereof.

“She’s proof even Agent Coulson can be wrong,” Fury told Clint, gesturing at the departed recruit. Clint snorted but didn’t reply. Fury turned his attention to the other seven recruits. “Yes, Agent Bellamy, you’re being groomed to be a full field team. Agent Summers is the presumptive team lead, based on the evaluations I’m seeing, with Agent Bellamy as her second. The rest of you are being sorted into specialties.” He pointed at Mackey, who recoiled slightly. “You’ll probably wind up as their recon and tactical specialist. Barton’s right, you’ve got a good eye.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mackey murmured.

“As for what you may or may not have heard about Agent Coulson – or anyone else, for that matter.” Fury shook his head. “I can’t keep you from speculating, and I know better than to think I can control scuttlebutt.” There were chuckles at that. “Attempting to use anything you hear through the grapevine as leverage against another agent or the agency will result in disciplinary action. Do I make myself clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir” answered him.

“Good. Agent Summers?”

“Yes, Director?”

“I’d like you and Agent Bellamy to look at the latest crop of recruits. See if there’s anyone you’d like to fill McNair’s place.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed.” The seven recruits fled the locker room, though Clint remained, leaning back against the bank of lockers. “You got something you want to say, Barton?”

There were several, Clint thought to himself, but he didn’t think it wise to voice them now. “No, sir.”

“I approved your leave with Coulson and Romanoff,” Fury continued. Though the voice was casual, Clint felt the scrutiny.

“Thank you, sir.” Clint allowed himself a wide grin. “I’m looking forward to outraging an entire town of busy-bodies.”

Fury chuckled. “I’ll tell you what I told Coulson – try not to commit any felonies.”

~ * ~


	2. Chapter 2

Clint let himself into the apartment, not attempting stealth. Fewer things would wake Natasha more abruptly than stealth, and if she was asleep, he didn’t want to startle her. He closed and bolted the door behind him before kicking off his shoes and padding sock-footed to the bedroom.

Natasha was indeed asleep, sprawled loose-limbed across the bed, her face pressed up against Phil’s thigh. Phil was still awake – reading what looked like mission reports. Clint leaned over to kiss him, letting the older man deepen the kiss until he finally pulled away to press their foreheads together. “I missed you too,” Clint murmured. Here, in their bedroom lit only by a reading lamp, Clint could push away the irritations of the training run, the dull thrum of tired muscles, and focus instead on the sound of his partners. Natasha, who would deny it with her dying breath, made a small noise as she slept that was somewhere between a purr and a whimper. Any time it edged closer to the latter than the former, Phil would run a soothing hand down her back, and it would morph back into sleepy contentedness.

“How was the training session?” Phil asked, setting aside his reading and gesturing for Clint to join him.

Having cleaned up sufficiently in the locker room, Clint stripped down to boxers and t-shirt and slid between the sheets on Phil’s other side. There wasn’t much room – Natasha was not a compact sleeper – but it didn’t bother either man. Phil pulled Clint close, letting out his own content sound. “Training went fine,” Clint answered evasively. He nestled his head into the hollow of Phil’s shoulder, wrapping one leg over him and marveling again at how fortunate he was.

“I thought we had rules about that word,” Phil chided gently. He ran his hand up Clint’s arm comfortingly, settling it in the archer’s blond hair and running his fingers through the short strands.

“Summers has good instincts. Bellamy will make a great second. Mackey’ll need help to get past the top level physicals, but I think they’ll find a way to carry him.” He paused, debating telling Phil the rest of it – but he’d find out as soon as he checked in at the office anyway. “McNair is out. She tried to make… insinuations. Fury was in the room and smacked her down for it.”

“What kind of insinuations?” Phil asked. He could guess, given Clint’s evasiveness. Fewer things riled Clint like having Phil’s integrity questioned. His own he could not care less about – but question that of Agent Phil Coulson in his presence, and one might be treated to an intimate demonstration of his more lethal projectiles.

“Her exact words were that I speak for you ‘on the regular,’ and that it ‘ain’t a secret, the way you three are peas in a pod.’ Oh, and my personal favorite – ‘Must get real tight in that office of his.’”

Phil’s eyebrows shot up. “And yet she lives?”

Clint chuckled, letting some of his unease seep away at Phil’s reaction. “I didn’t even touch her. Two of her squadmates had her in hand even before Fury stepped in. Summers and Bellamy, in fact. Fury wants them to choose her replacement, even.”

“They’ll do a fine job,” Phil said with satisfaction. “Bellamy has the years to balance Summers’ inexperience, and she has the charisma to balance his stoicism.”

“Bellamy an ex-Marine?”

“There’s no such thing as an ex-Marine,” Phil replied automatically, then grinned. “But yes, he was in the Corps.” Clint nodded against him, but didn’t seem inclined to continue to speak. “What did Fury say?” Phil asked finally. “To the rest of the team?”

Clint mimicked Fury’s tone the best that he could. “‘Attempting to use anything you hear through the grapevine as leverage against another agent or the agency will result in disciplinary action.’”

Phil pondered that. “Do you think he suspects? Us?”

Clint lifted his head to look at Phil incredulously. “You told the man you wanted to take us home for Christmas, and you think he’s in the dark?”

“I didn’t realize you were listening,” Phil confessed.

“I was in the vents, and it’s a damned good thing, too, because he mentioned quite off-handedly that he’d approved my leave. If I hadn’t eavesdropped earlier, I’d have had no idea what story you’d told him. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” Phil admitted, gently pressing Clint’s head back down against him. “I opened my mouth to lie, and the truth came out instead. Well, you heard me. I’m not ashamed of loving you,” Phil murmured, lips against Clint’s temple. “Either of you.”

“I know that,” Clint sighed.

“We know that,” Natasha added, her voice thick with sleep. She nuzzled her head against Phil’s thigh, then inched her way upwards until she could mirror Clint’s position, clasping his hand over Phil’s chest and letting her knee settle against his, over Phil’s.

“We didn’t mean to wake you, Sunshine,” Clint apologized.

She smiled, managing to look charmingly sleepy and deliciously desirable. “I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t.” She tilted her head up to catch Phil in a slow, tender kiss. When they broke apart, she levered herself up on one arm to reach across and give Clint the same treatment.

“Evil minx,” Clint told her.

“Did training the babies leave you too tired?” Natasha asked with false solicitude.

“Of course not.” He sniffed derisively. “But if I’d realized you wanted to play games, I wouldn’t have bothered with shirt and shorts.”

Phil laughed, and both his lovers smiled to hear the genuine amusement. “Clothes are easy enough to take off, pretty bird.”

“I hate it when you call me that,” Clint said, with no feeling behind it. He wriggled under the covers, slipping out of shorts and shirt, tossing the haphazardly behind him. “Your turn, treorai.”

Phil obliged with more decorum, dropping the clothing items beside the bed. “Natasha?”

“Way ahead of you,” she told them, and folded back the sheet.

Even after six months, the sight of her laid bare before him was enough to make Phil pinch himself. Clint moved first, climbing over Phil to join Natasha and pressing kisses to her bare shoulders. Phil followed a moment later, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her closer. He bumped Clint’s head and they shared a kiss of their own, until Natasha cleared her throat meaningful and they broke apart, chuckling.

“And what would the lady like for dessert this evening?” Clint asked, hands unable to keep from roaming her body, stroking in places that he knew made her shiver.

Natasha smiled wickedly at each of them before answering. “Cream filling.” They groaned at the pun, but she continued. “Double serving.”

~ * ~

Natasha was already awake and packed by the time her achroi ghra entered the kitchen, seeking coffee. She handed them each a cup – freshly made and doctored to their tastes – and turned back to the stove, intent on the breakfast scramble she was making for them. Breakfast was one of the few meals she felt qualified to cook – primarily because Phil and Clint were both a little too slow to wake up to be trusted with hot grease and sharp utensils – and she took pleasure in feeding them. It was a silly thing, really, she mused. It’s not as if they can’t feed themselves but… it was a way to take care of them, a way to tell them how she felt without having to say the words.

Phil, as usual, was the first to achieve anything approaching wakefulness. He slipped into the kitchen, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. “Good morning,” he breathed in her ear, and she smiled.

“Morning.” She tilted her head for a more thorough kiss, interrupting only when a potato in the skillet made an ominous noise. “I packed your bag. You might want to make sure I got everything,” she told him.

“You think of things I never do,” Phil protested. “Although, I might check the gifts…”

“Is the whole clan going to be there?” Clint asked. His third cup of coffee was breathing some life into him, enough that he was concerned to be presented to the entirety of the Coulson family.

“No,” Phil answered reassuringly. “Mom and Dad, of course, because it’s their inn – Sarah and her wife and twin girls. It’s Darla’s year with her husband’s family, and Megan’s family is going on a cruise over Christmas break. We’ll probably see them briefly, but not for the whole vacation.”

Clint frowned. “You told Fury they’d all be there.”

“No, I let him think they would be,” Phil said with a soft smile. “I also let him think that my parents were conservative and close-minded. I didn’t mention my gay baby sister, her wife, or the twin girls they adopted together – or the fact that Mom and Dad fly a rainbow flag right below the US flag at the inn.” He grinned now, genuinely amused. “We’ll still scandalize the neighbors, I’m sure, but my family won’t be bothered.”

Natasha began spooning scramble onto plates, heaping them full. “You didn’t tell us that before,” she complained. “I’ve been worried.”

Phil took the pan and spoon from her and kissed her thoroughly, his hands in the air holding the implements. “I’d never subject you to my family if I thought you would be uncomfortable,” he assured her.

“Will they be?” Clint asked.

“Uncomfortable?” Phil shrugged, putting the kitchen implements into the sink and joining them at the table. He passed Natasha the pepper before she could ask for it. “I doubt it. Probably just be relieved I’m finally bringing someone home.”

“They aren't expecting us?” Natasha asked carefully, her eyes not meeting Phil’s.

{Oh man,} Clint blinked at Natasha, fork halfway to his mouth. {Did he just do the thing I did? The one that got me yelled at by all three women in my life?}

{It appears that way.} Natasha’s response was clipped, and she set down her fork to look squarely at Phil, who had yet to answer her question.

“Not… exactly…” Phil began weakly, but the intensity of her gaze caused the words to evaporate from his mouth. 

“Phil.” Clint spoke before Natasha could, hoping to forestall the outburst he read in her posture. “Is there a reason you haven’t told your parents?” More quietly, he added, “What happened to not being ashamed of loving us?”

Natasha was certain that if their mental connection included Phil, she and Clint would have been treated to a truly impressive display of invective. Phil snapped his eyes shut, pressed his lips together, and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, pain radiated from him. “I haven’t told a soul about us, pretty bird. Not my mother, not my father, not my sisters.”

“Why not?” Natasha pressed.

“To protect you,” Phil whispered, swallowing hard.

“So, you were just going to drive up to your parents’ house in Wisconsin today and knock on the door and say ‘Hi Mom! Decided to drop by for Christmas! And I brought my two entirely platonic coworkers, but don’t worry about space, we’ll all share a bed!’ and see how that goes over?” Clint’s tone was incredulous but no longer angry.

“I was going to leave out the ‘platonic coworkers’ bit…” Phil admitted weakly.

Natasha sighed, rubbed her forehead between her brows to soothe the tension headache now building. “Treorai, you are a very intelligent man. I trusted you with my life long before I trusted you with my heart.” She picked her fork back up and began to eat. “What I cannot understand is how you can be so very stupid sometimes.” Phil didn’t speak, just stared at her. “Eat your breakfast, dearling. When you are finished, Clint and I are going to go speak to Gaia, and you are going to call your mother.”

~ * ~


	3. Chapter 3

Phil stared at the phone next to his hand on the table, trying to decide when it had acquired roughly the mass of the universe. He didn’t think a phone had ever seemed so heavy. Natasha had put it there, silently, before she and Clint stepped out the apartment door, heading towards ground level and a bare patch earth.

He wondered if Gaia was used to Her Warriors using Her to vent their frustrations, or if that was unique to his partners.

Achroi ghra, he corrected himself – and then decided that wasn’t strong enough either. He knew what he wanted to call them, but they hadn’t discussed it. It wasn’t truly an option, even if their relationship were public. The law would see it as polygamy, or bigamy, but Phil didn’t care – he wanted to call Natasha his wife, and Clint his husband. Wanted to see a ring, some outward symbol of their union – wanted there to be no doubt in anyone’s mind that they were his, he was theirs, and nothing could change that.

Except, of course, his own stupidity. Phil groaned and finally lifted the phone, scrolling to his mother’s contact card and pushing the button to connect.

“Well, good morning to you, Phil!” she answered cheerily. “Are you hitting the road?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Phil said. He knew he didn’t sound normal, but he tried. “Just about.”

“What’s wrong, honey? Are you okay?”

So much for fooling his mother. He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just in a bit of hot water with—”

His mother interrupted him with a rude noise. “If that boss of yours is refusing your request, there’ll be Hell to pay.”

“No, Directory Fury approved our leave. That’s not the problem.” 

“Then what is?”

“My – well, fuck.”

“Philip James Coulson!”

He winced. “Sorry, Mom.” Phil rubbed his forehead where a headache of his own was brewing, wishing vaguely that Catriona had left some of that headache tea. The expletive had slipped of its own accord. While he could and did restrain his language in nearly all situations, it rarely took more than two minutes of conversation with his mother for the filter between his brain and his mouth to disconnect. He wondered idly if that was a parental trick, or a skill limited to Diane Coulson.

“Maybe you’d better start at the beginning,” she coaxed. “Who are you in hot water with?”

“Natasha,” he answered automatically.

“And Natasha is…” she prompted.

“Natasha is my… Life? Love? Half of my other half? I’d have her as our wife if I could, but I can’t, so she’s our partner and achroi ghra…” Phil was out of breath before he realized that he’d actually spoken all of that aloud. 

“Half of your other half? Who is the ‘we’ when you say ‘our wife’?” his mother asked calmly.

“Clint. My… my other love. Husband in all that matters.” Phil found his fingers hurt from gripping the phone tightly and changed hands, shaking the cramps out.

“Honey, what did you do to be in trouble with your wife?”

“I… uh… she just found out that I hadn’t told you about them – us – at any point in the last six months even though I thought she understood that I wanted to tell you in person, which is why I planned this trip anyway, and got our vacation time approved, all three of us, and she packed the bags and made breakfast this morning before she pinned me on not having told you anything, and she’s really very upset with me at the moment.” That last statement did sound like Phil, and he took a calming breath. He could never help but spill his thoughts to his mother – but he always felt better afterwards.

There was an odd silence on the other end of the phone, and then his mother began to laugh. It started as a politely muffled chuckle but rapidly grew until he could hear his father yelling from another room, wanting to know what was so funny. He heard his father pick up the extension as his mother continued to chortle. “Son, your mother isn’t making much sense. Something about you biting off more than you could chew?”

“That’s a fair description.” Phil tilted his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dad, I’d like to bring someone home with me for Christmas. Two someones, and they are very important to me,” Phil said. He felt his calm returning at his father’s solid, silent presence. “I can’t marry them legally, but if I could, they would be my husband and wife. Clint and Natasha. This… matters to us. Coming to see you.” Phil closed his eyes, knowing his mother was listening now too. “Neither of them have living parents, and we don’t have the kind of life that lends itself to family but I want to show them mine. I want to share that with them.”

“Of course, son,” his father said immediately. Phil felt something in his chest relax and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Did you think we would be upset?” His father sounded puzzled. “We’ve had polyamorous threesomes and foursomes stay at the Inn before.”

“I know.” Phil scrubbed his face with his free hand. “I knew you’d accept a triad.”

“Are you afraid we won’t accept your partners, then?” his mother asked gently.

“If you didn’t – if you can’t – it would hurt them,” Phil answered reluctantly. “Clint’s brother and sister-in-law didn’t take it well. Laura’s amazing, and their kids are treasures but Barney – the brother – well, he and Clint have issues.” He swallowed hard. “I wanted to spare him that. Both of them. Goddess, I’d do anything never to see that look on Clint’s face. I thought – hoped – that if you met them with no expectations, you’d see them the way I do.” He laughed without any humor. “I tried so hard to protect them that I hurt them instead.”

“You are forgiven,” he heard Natasha say through the phone. 

“Nat?!” He sat bolt upright in his chair, looking around the apartment for her.

“Clint and I are downstairs. I tapped your phone,” she told him matter-of-factly. Then her tone softened. “We don’t want you hurt either, treorai. If this conversation had gone differently, one of us would have spoken up.”

“Good morning, Natasha,” Diane Coulson said smoothly. “I’m looking forward to meeting you, and your third. Do you have any requests for dinner? I haven’t set anything out yet.”

“No, ma’am,” Natasha answered, both respectful and grateful.

“Call me Diane, please,” Phil’s mother insisted. “But we’ll talk more about that when you arrive. Right now, Phil, you should go apologize to your wife and husband, then get Lola packed and on your way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Phil responded.

“Drive careful,” his father cautioned, in a comment so familiar Phil rolled his eyes. “And check your oil before you leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll see you in about fourteen hours,” his mother said. “Do let us know if you run behind schedule. I’ll worry otherwise.”

They said their goodbyes, and Phil set the phone back down on the table. He drilled his fingers into his temples, wishing the pressure would ease the headache that had doubled down.

He was preoccupied with his pain and thoughts enough that he didn’t hear the apartment door and open and close. Clint’s cool hand on the back of his neck startled him, but he leaned into it. “How much did you hear?” Phil asked, closing his eyes.

“All of it,” Natasha answered, sitting on the edge of the table facing him.

“Why?” he managed to croak out around a tight throat.

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him against her. Behind him, Clint bent down to press his chest against Phil’s back, solid and reassuring. “I needed to know whether they were going to hurt you, reject you,” Natasha explained – and it was most definitely an explanation and not an excuse. “Because if they had…”

Phil sighed against her, his arms coming up to wrap around her waist. “Don’t say it. Please. I know you would protect me, but they’re my parents.”

“If I were to kill over heartbreak, I’d have started with Barney,” Natasha told him drily. “No, I meant that you would need us.”

“I always need you,” Phil answered in complete sincerity.

“Did you mean what you said to your father?” Clint asked. He was somewhat awkwardly crouched in order to wrap his arms around Phil, but he wasn’t willing to shift position – he needed to feel Phil, to know when the light tremor running through his muscles eased.

“Of course,” Phil sighed. “Which part?”

Natasha let her fingers meander through Phil’s hair, stroking and soothing. She, too, could feel his tension, feel the desperation in the press of his forehead against her, the clinging in his grasp around her waist. “About marriage, dearling,” she clarified softly. “You’ve never brought it up before.”

“How do I tell my loves – that I can’t show any affection to outside of a locked room – that I want a permanent, visible symbol of our union?” Phil asked. Frustration laced his words, muffled as they were against Natasha’s shoulder. “I know we have to keep it a secret. I know what it means for our careers.” Phil pressed his face tighter to Natasha, hoping she didn’t notice the tears welling up in his eyes.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Natasha prompted. “You’re afraid of something. Fear is the only emotion that makes you behave so illogically, treorai. What is it?”

Damn perceptive assassin, Phil grumbled to himself. His mind bounced from explanation to excuse to downright lie. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Swallowing hard against the pressure in his chest, he went with honesty. “I’m terrified that you’ll look at me one morning and see me for who I am – a middle-aged bureaucrat with intimacy issues. You’ll realize you don’t need me. You have each other, and Gaia.”

Had someone described this scenario to Natasha in the past, she’d have assumed her reaction would be anger – that he would think her so shallow as to fall out of love with him so easily. Instead, sorrow tugged at her heart, making her draw Phil even closer – as tightly pressed against her as she could manage, and she bowed her head over his. She knew what it was like to feel unworthy of love. She questioned her own value every time one of her achroi ghra smiled that private, tender smile at her. How could she, an instrument of death, deserve the love of these two men?

“None of us deserve each other,” Clint murmured to both Phil and Natasha. He’d heard Natasha’s internal dialogue – she hadn’t bothered to keep him out – and it resonated with him as well. “But it’s not just up to us. Gaia tied us together – you too, Phil, or she wouldn’t have sent us to you after you’d been roofied – and if the Goddess believes we should be together, I’m going to agree with her.” He straightened up, leaning over Phil’s back to kiss Natasha with firm, gentle insistence. Then he carefully tilted Phil’s head up and did the same to him. “Now, get in the car,” Clint ordered. He stepped back, rubbing his own somewhat-reddened eyes, and gestured at the door. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and we’ve got a stop to make.”

“We do?” Phil asked, sitting back in his chair, trying to regain control of himself.

“Yep,” Clint confirmed. “We’re getting rings.”

~ * ~


	4. Chapter 4

{Clinton Francis Barton, are you insane?} Natasha raged silently at him. {Rings? We can’t wear rings! We work with trained observers! How in the Hell are we going to keep this relationship a secret if we’re wearing rings?!?}

Clint opened the door and bowed regally, waving both him and Natasha inside the jewelry store. Despite Natasha’s mental perturbation, her face was serene. {Tash.}

Her anger ebbed somewhat at the calm but beseeching tone. {Yes?}

{I need Phil more than I need SHIELD. Phil needs this. He needs a symbol.} His eyes flickered to hers. {You don’t have to wear yours if it’s going to bother you. I plan to wear mine and never say a word about it. Phil will probably never explain it to anyone either. Yes, people will wonder – they already wonder.}

“Welcome to Sherrod’s. How can I help you?” A well-dressed gentleman stepped out from a backroom with a practiced smile. When his eyes came to Phil, his own widened slightly, but he didn’t react otherwise.

Clint returned the smile with practiced charm. “We’re looking for commitment bands, three of them. Not something flashy.”

“Of course.” The man walked to a glass case, opening the back and lifting a tray of rings onto the glass countertop. “Something like these?”

They were nice, traditional bands – yellow gold with channel-inset diamonds. Natasha flinched. “Do you have anything in black?” she asked.

Clint snickered, and put up a hand to ward off her glare. “Actually, black might be a better choice,” he agreed easily. “Treorai?” He turned to Phil, waiting for a response.

“Black would be fine,” Phil said softly. “Do you have any with three stones set in them?”

The jeweler’s smile relaxed, and he replaced the tray in the case. “Give me a moment. I believe I have what you are looking for.” He stepped back into the back room again.

Clint was frowning at the retreating salesman. “Why did he smile at you like that, treorai?” He tried not to sound jealous – really, he did – but by the amused look on Natasha’s face he hadn’t succeeded.

“Did you do any research on this place, pretty bird?” Phil asked. He stepped closer to Clint and tangled their fingers together. Natasha took Phil’s other hand, head tilted in curiosity.

“No. Why?”

“Sherrod knows my parents. The Inn – which really is called the Rainbow Inn, and has been since long before rainbows were associated with gay pride – is well known in the LGTBQ community.” Phil’s smile was a little melancholy. “He and his partner used to stay at the Inn for a week every summer.”

Natasha blinked, turning to Clint. “You managed not only to pick a gay jeweler, but one who knows Phil?”

Clint flushed. “I may have asked Big Mama for a pointer or two.”

Phil’s laugh began as a soft chuckle but grew as he relaxed, slipping an arm around each of them and holding them close. “I guess I could do worse than to have the Goddess as my wingman. Wingwoman? Wingdeity?”

The jeweler – Sherrod, obviously – returned from the back room with another tray in his hands, this time of grey velvet rather than black. “These are not a particularly big seller,” he told them conversationally. “It seems that people in non-traditional relationships are drawn to traditional rings, though I haven’t a clue why that would be.” He waved his hand at the array of gold and platinum bands. 

Phil leaned over the tray of rings, nodding absently. “As usually, Sherrod, you’ve the right of it.” He pointed to one, reaching out for Natasha’s hand.

“You don’t even know my size,” Natasha protested.

Phil raised one eyebrow. “Are you under the impression that there is anything about you that I don’t know?” he asked, dropping his voice to a low purr that made her want to shiver. She resisted. Phil slid the ring onto her finger, breath hitching as he did so. It was a simple black titanium band with three equal sized black diamonds inset in it – subtle adding shine, but not ostentatious.

Natasha flexed her fingers, surprised that the ring didn’t feel out of place. She admired it, realized she was admiring it, and glowered at the ring. 

Phil, who knew her far too well to thing that her expression was directed at him, leaned forward and kissed her cheek gently before turning back to the rings and gentle removing another from its velvet nest. He reached for Clint’s hand this time, and Clint was taken aback to discover that he was choked up by the action, the feel of Phil sliding that band of metal on to his finger. He bit the inside of his lip, blinking, as Phil settled the ring firmly in place and bent to place a kiss on his knuckles, a courtly gesture that should have seemed incongruous.

“Our turn, treorai,” Natasha murmured. {Any of them jump out at you?} she asked silently, peering over the rings.

{That one,} Clint told her as her eyes landed on a particular band. She reached for it, glancing at Sherrod who gave her a subtle nod, his lips twitching in a tiny smile.

Natasha picked up the ring and Clint took Phil’s hand, holding it in place as Natasha slid the ring on. A fine tremor ran through Phil, and for just a moment, he’d have sworn on his mother’s life that the universe halted – that for an instant, the touch of their hands over than ancient, sacred symbol of bonding had altered reality.

“Achroi ghra,” Natasha breathed.

“Achroi ghra,” Clint and Phil murmured in response.

The moment passed – as moments do – and Phil looked down at the ring on his finger, a smile tugging at his lips. “What do we owe you, Sherrod?” he asked finally.

“You don’t owe him a cent,” Clint said smoothly. “I’m buying.”

“Clint, that’s not necessary—” Phil began.

“At least let me help—” Natasha protested.

Sherrod raised his hands to interrupt them all. “I will split the cost of each band between the other two, and give each of you a separate bill,” he declared. “None of you will pay for your own ring, but you will know that you have paid for half of each of your partners.” He smiled at Phil again, though there was grief in his eyes. “You will also not be paying the retail price. If you must, consider it a wedding gift – but it is also to thank you for the memories I have of your family and the Inn… and John.” He turned away, moving to an electronic register, before they could answer.

“His partner?” Clint asked quietly.

Phil nodded, hand still clasped in Clint and Natasha’s. “He was killed a few years ago. Hate crime,” Phil said briefly, not wanting to discuss it.

“Was there justice?” There was a sharp edge to Natasha’s question, and Phil looked up at her, smiling sadly.

“The perps were caught, tried, convicted, and imprisoned,” he told her. “I don’t know if that counts as justice or not, but at least they won’t hurt anyone else.”

“You have a hand in that?” Natasha asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Officially, no,” Phil told her, watching Sherrod out of the corner of his eye. “And I’d like it to stay that way, please, love.”

It was the endearment that made her drop it. She squeezed his hand again, decided she liked the slight pinch of his ring against her hand, and stepped to the counter. “Thank you,” she said to the jeweler, who slid her a leather receipt folder. He passed identical folders to Clint and Phil.

“It is my pleasure,” Sherrod responded with an elegant tilt of his head.

Natasha regarded him for a moment before reaching into a pocket and handing him a credit card. “I didn’t mean the rings, or the discount.” At his inquiring eyebrow lift, she let a partial smile tug at the corner of her lip. “Your immediate acceptance of our triad soothed him,” Natasha said very quietly, her eyes flicking to Phil. “I thank you for his peace of mind.”

Sherrod’s smile matched hers, and he repeated that elegant nod with a grace that reminded Natasha of old world nobility. “That too, was my pleasure,” he replied, and took her card to complete the transaction.

~ * ~

Roadtrips in Lola were generally fun. She was a sweet car, and Phil handled her like a well-bred horse.

Unfortunately, Lola was not the most well-suited vehicle for driving from DC to Wisconsin in December.

The tension in the small car was rising with every slight skid, until Phil was tense enough he was fairly certain the tendons in his neck could have doubled as Clint’s bowstrings. At hour eight – with four to six still to go – Phil pulled off into a truck stop and rested his head on the steering wheel. “Lola, my love, this isn’t anything against you,” Phil murmured to his car, “but I need a break.”

Clint and Natasha exchanged looks, and then climbed out of the car to stretch. Phil followed them, shaking his hands to relieve the cramps. {If he’d let one of us drive, I’d suggest he needs a stiff drink,} Clint told Natasha.

{There are other ways to get him to relax,} Natasha replied smugly. She headed towards the ubiquitous diner, purposely adding an extra sway in her hips.

{Is that supposed to relax him? Because it’s doing other things to me.}

Clint gestured to Phil and they fell in behind Natasha. She grinned at them over her shoulder. “See something you like, boys?” she asked saucily.

“You are an evil minx,” Clint informed her. Phil didn’t answer.

They settled into a booth and took menus from a worn-out waitress. It was a U-shaped booth, having a rounded end rather than corners, so Clint and Natasha bracketed Phil, relaxing into the casual touch. Natasha kicked up her feet on one of the long edges of the booth, and Phil leaned his head back with a sigh.

“Are you in the mood for anything particular?” Clint asked, gesturing to Phil’s menu.

“Yes, but it isn’t on the list,” Phil said with a tired smile.

“It could be,” Natasha murmured. “All you have to do is ask, dearling.”

“Not here,” Phil answered, and Natasha tilted her head at him. His eyes flicked around the diner and its patrons. Clint saw him reach for the spot where his holster usually sat, only to find it packed away.

“What’s wrong?” Clint asked.

Phil grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m edgy. Seeing Sherrod, thinking about John – it’s got me seeing bigots in every corner.”

Clint reached for his hand, hoping to comfort, but Phil pulled away, an apology in his eyes. “Alright,” Clint acquiesced, looking over at Natasha. She leaned more firmly against Phil, hoping her comfort would be welcome, but he shook his head tightly.

“We just want to help,” Natasha told him gently.

“I know,” Phil answered. He ran his thumb against his ring. “I did tell you I have intimacy issues.”

“Thank the Goddess, only in public,” Clint murmured. Phil shot him a look, but nodded.

The waitress returned and took their orders. Natasha bet Clint ten bucks she’d get at least one wrong. “You know, there are plenty of other reasons you could be on edge,” Clint said, drawing on the table with his finger through the water condensation of his cup. “You’ve been a field agent, you’ve got instincts. Maybe there’s bad voodoo about to go down.”

Phil smiled faintly. “I’m glad that you see the positive interpretation of it, pretty bird. I think I’d rather it by my own neuroses than something we’d have to call SHIELD for.”

“He’s got a point,” Natasha told Clint, pointing at him with a straw. He picked up another straw and brandished it like a sword.

“En garde!”

Phil watched with amusement as two of the deadliest people he knew fenced with paper-wrapped plastic straws, ceasing only when their food had been delivered. (Natasha won the bet, but Clint argued that it didn’t count because Phil wouldn’t send his shoestring fries back for curly fries.)

{Is this what you had in mind to relax him, Sunshine?} Clint asked innocently as they dug into their meals.

{It is not, but it’s working,} she answered. {For him, at least. I’m horny as hell.} Natasha had careful timed her comment, and Clint’s snort of amusement wound up sending soda up his nose.

“That wasn’t fair,” Clint complained when he could speak again. At Phil’s upraised eyebrow, Clint quickly signed Natasha’s comment – blocking his hands from casual view – and Phil laughed too. Natasha was relieved to see that the humor went all the way to his eyes.

“All’s fair in love and war, achroi ghra,” Natasha said sweetly, and fluttered her eyelashes at Clint. 

“You really are an evil minx,” Phil told her. He took the car keys out of his pocket and handed them to Clint. “If you promise to be careful with Lola, I’ll see about taking care of Natasha’s problem.”

Clint took the keys, surprise plain on his face. “You sure about that, treorai? Have you ever let anyone else drive her?”

“Dad has,” Phil admitted. “No one else. But I’m tired, and not at my best, and I trust you with my life – so why not my Lola?”

~ * ~


	5. Chapter 5

Clint had barely steered Lola back onto the freeway when he realized how monumentally stupid this was.

He was a professional sharpshooter. He had the patience and singularity of focus to surveil a target for days on end, waiting for his shot. He could block out everything around him, including the needs of his own body, in order to complete a mission.

Unfortunately, he was apparently incapable of blocking out the sound or sight of his achroi ghra in the backseat. They hadn’t even gotten far – barely rounded first base – and Clint knew that if he didn’t stop the car, he was going to wreck Phil’s precious Lola.

He pulled off at the first opportunity, coming to rest in a parking spot near a historical marker. Phil looked up, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

Clint turned the ignition off and banged his head against the steering wheel. “Phil, I love you, and I’m touched that you’d let me drive Lola, but if I hear you make Natasha squeak one more time, I’m afraid I’ll run us all off the road.”

“I don’t squeak,” Natasha protested.

“You totally do, and it’s both adorable and sexy as hell. Neither of which makes me a better driver,” Clint told her firmly.

Phil looked nonplussed. “I’m sorry,” he began, and Clint cut him off.

“Don’t be. Please. It kills me to interrupt, and if we were in a vehicle I knew better or on familiar roads, I’d probably find a way to make it work because damn, treorai, watching you take her apart is a thing of beauty. But I’m not going to crash Lola over it.” He looked back over his shoulder at them, grin a little sheepish.

Natasha squeezed her upper body through the gap in the seats to give Clint a long, sweet kiss. “I can wait,” she told him, feeling an unexpected surge of tenderness.

Phil raised his eyebrows. “You were singing a different tune a moment ago, love.”

“Clint’s right. Safety first,” she said with a small smile. “I don’t want to be responsible for wrecking Lola either.” She squirmed back into the seat properly, fastening her seatbelt.

“Do you still want to drive?” Phil asked Clint, who hadn’t moved to start the car again.

Clint blinked, looking at Phil in the rear-view mirror. “Seriously?”

“Did you think my permission was contingent upon orgasm?”

“Uh… well, actually, yeah,” Clint admitted. “I’d love to drive.” He started the car again, maneuvered them back into the highway, and resumed their route. His eyes met Phil’s again in the mirror. “Sorry.”

“Both of you need to stop apologizing over nothing,” Natasha murmured. She twisted in her seat until she could prop her head against the window and her feet on Phil’s lap. She fancied she could feel both biting off additional apologies, and she shook her head, amused.

Phil slid the boots off her feet and began to press his thumbs into her arches. She hummed pleasantly. Clint glanced in the rear-view mirror and smiled. {He can’t not touch,} Clint remarked to Natasha privately.

{I’m not complaining.} She let out a long, contented sigh.

~ * ~

They were several hours closer to their destination – Phil estimated an hour left on the road – when Clint flicked his eyes back to his achroi ghra in the backseat. “Awkward question,” he began. “How much does your family know about SHIELD? Do you have a cover at home? Are we telling them about the Goddess-bond?”

“That was more than one question,” Phil complained.

“Valid ones, though, dearling,” Natasha added gently. “Obviously you have no intention of keeping our relationship a secret,” she said, tapping her ring lightly, “but do they know we work with you? What do they think we do?”

“Mom and Dad know the full truth.” Phil paused, absently running his hand up and down Natasha’s calf. “Dad worked for SHIELD in its early years. Technically, he’s still on the books as a consultant – I don’t think they’ve called him in for anything in years, but it means the Inn can be used as a drop location or a safe house. Sarah knows too – baby sister – and probably her wife Iris, though we’ve never actually talked about it. To everyone else, I work for a government agency, and my work is classified.” He shrugged with fabricated nonchalance. “Darla – oldest sister – thinks I’m CIA. Megan…” Phil rolled his eyes. “Megan either doesn’t have an opinion of her own or shares her husband’s – he thinks I’m an enforcer for the mafia.”

Clint’s laughter startled them, including himself. “The mafia?” he repeated, incredulous.

“This is the middle sister whose husband you can’t stand?” Natasha asked.

“That would be Megan, yes,” Phil agreed. “Derek is… difficult. If they were going to be at the Inn over Christmas, we might not be. Although I can usually be persuaded to put up with Derek in exchange for time with their kids.”

“You really do like kids, don’t you?” Clint chuckled. “Here I thought it was just my flirt of a niece.”

Natasha felt a pinch in her heart and her breath caught. In her mind, she could see Phil as a father – the right kind of father, the type she so rarely saw in her line of work. He deserved that. How could she be so selfish as to deny it to him?

Phil’s hand stilled on her leg, feeling the fine tremor running through her. “What is it, love?”

She didn’t answer – wasn’t sure she could. Helplessly her eyes sought Clint’s. “She thinks she’s holding you back from fatherhood,” Clint told Phil quietly. The hands on the steering wheel tightened briefly.

“Oh, love.” Phil’s voice was gentle, as was the resumption of stroking of her leg. “I fell for you thinking you could never give me children – I love you, not your reproductive organs. Yes, someday it might be something we all want, but you aren’t robbing me of anything.”

To her absolute horror, Natasha realized there were tears in her eyes, and hastily blotted her face. “Your family will ask,” she objected. “People always ask new couples that.”

“Not if I have a quick word with my mother,” Phil assured her.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Sunshine.” Clint’s voice was subdued as well.

“I feel stupid,” Natasha admitted, pulling her legs away from Phil to curl into a tight ball. She clasped her arms around her calves, pressing her forehead against one knee. “I never gave it much thought, until the Goddess said She could make it possible. Now I can’t seem to keep from thinking about it.”

“Does it really stem from the Goddess, or from being with us?” Phil asked. He unbuckled his seatbelt and slid across to her, wrapping her in a comforting embrace. “You never had reason to consider motherhood, my love.”

Natasha settled her head against Phil with a sigh. “Sorry.”

“Now who is apologizing for nothing?” Clint teased, but his smile was tender too.

Phil continued to hold her, stroking her hair meditatively. “Do you want to tell my parents about the Goddess bond?” he asked, when he could feel she was no longer tension-taut.

“I don’t know,” she answered, seizing on the subject and working through the different scenarios in her mind. “Would they believe us?”

“They would if we did a demonstration, or had Catriona come,” Clint said thoughtfully. “But does it matter if they believe us? I’d like to tell them, if that’s okay with Phil. It’s one less thing we have to hide.”

“It isn’t my story to tell,” Phil said with a half-smile.

“I think I agree with you, Clint,” Natasha said, after some quiet thought. “We told Laura, so it only seems fair. I don’t think we need to drag Catriona here just to put on a show, though. That seems… disrespectful.”

Clint acknowledged that with a thoughtful nod. “All right.” He danced his fingers on the steering wheel as he turned off the interstate.

~ * ~


	6. Chapter 6

“Wow.” Clint tilted his head up to look at the flagpole, standing next to Lola’s open driver’s door. “You weren’t kidding.” Beneath the traditional star spangled banner, a rainbow flag fluttered. Clint had never really appreciated it as a symbol – he may identify as bisexual, but he’d never been part of a community related to his sexuality – but he thought he could understand it better now. In a way he’d never considered, it felt like safety.

Phil grinned at him from behind Lola, grabbing their bags out of the trunk. They had barely crossed on to the Rainbow Inn property before he felt the tension start to dribble away. He was nervous about his spouses meeting his parents, but the edginess that had plagued him all day had sloughed away. Here, it didn’t matter who saw him with Clint or Natasha.

Natasha stepped onto the packed gravel driveway as well, sweeping the area with her eyes automatically. Then, heedless of the cold, she kicked off her boots and placed her bare feet against the gravel, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. “Your parents are good stewards,” Natasha told Phil as he came around the car, loaded with bags. Clint rounded Lola to take part of the luggage from him, grinning at Natasha.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Catriona, Sunshine,” Clint informed her cheerily. “Her shoelessness is rubbing off on you.”

“I wanted to see if Great Mother had an opinion about the Coulsons,” Natasha explained loftily, tossing her hair. She picked up her boots in one hand and a bag in the other. “She approves.”

“Glad to hear it.” Phil tried to take the bag back from her but desisted at her fierce glare. “Alright! I was just trying to be chivalrous.”

“Uncle Phil!”

The triad turned to face the house, where twin girls were currently dashing down the front steps in matching outfits, blonde braids streaming behind them. Phil found himself tackled, one on each side. Clint and Natasha relieved him of his bags so that he could properly hug his nieces, crouching down so that he could squeeze them both tightly to him. “Good Goddess, but I’ve missed you,” Phil said, chucking each of them under the chin in turn. “Look how much you’ve grown! How are you liking the fifth grade?”

One of the girls grinned, and Natasha recognized it from Phil’s repertoire of expressions – pure mischief. “None of our teachers can tell us apart.”

“And you wouldn’t do a thing to add to their confusion, would you?” he teased, tweaking a braid. “Come on, let’s get inside before Natasha’s toes freeze.” He herded his nieces and spouses towards the front door.

“Why’d you take your shoes off?” one of the girls asked.

Natasha smiled. “I like to feel the earth beneath my feet.”

“Uh, okay,” the other twin responded, and both looked askance at her. Natasha laughed and climbed the front steps of the Inn.

“Mom! Dad!” A blonde woman with features similar to Phil’s opened the front door. “Phil’s here!”

“Hi, Sarah,” Phil said, and reached out to his baby sister. In half a breath they were hugging, and Natasha thought she saw a glimmer of tears in both sets of gray-blue eyes. He drew away, finally, turning to his achroi ghra and ushering them in. Natasha fastidiously wiped the soles of her feet on the front area rug as Sarah raised an eyebrow at her older brother. Clint set the bags he was carrying down next to Natasha’s burden and turned to Phil. “Clint, Natasha, this is my baby sister Sarah,” Phil introduced them. “The twin terrors are Rosalie and Lilabeth.” He tugged on the braids of each girl in turn. “These are my partners, Clint and Natasha.”

“Spouses,” Clint and Natasha corrected in unison.

“Spouses,” Phil agreed, running his thumb along his wedding band. 

Sarah blinked once, then a smile erupted. “Congratulations!” she said, hugging her brother again. “And my condolences,” she said with mock solemnity to Clint and Natasha. “I don’t know how anyone stays married to a Coulson. We’re a terribly difficult breed.”

“I’ve known worse,” Natasha said dryly.

Emerging from a corridor, an older couple appeared and made for the cluster of people. “Phil, I’m so glad you’re home,” his mother gushed, pulling him into a tight embrace. His father beamed.

“I’m glad to be here,” he told them.

“You must be Natasha. I’m Diane Coulson,” the woman said, and opened her arms to the Russian assassin. “It’s so delightful to meet you.”

At Phil’s encouraging smile, Natasha stepped forward to be hugged. It was different than when Laura or Catriona did it, but she couldn’t identify why.

“Why, goodness child, your feet must be frozen!” Diane exclaimed, holding Natasha at arm’s length and looking down at her toes. They were bare save for electric purple nail polish.

“She said she likes to feel the earth beneath her feet,” one of the twins informed her grandmother – Rosalie, Natasha thought.

“Well! I never.” Diane made a disapproving clucking noise, and opened a nearby closet to rummage for a pair of slippers.

Natasha was not sure if she was amused or offended, but the twinkle in Phil’s eyes did a lot to push her reaction towards humor. She slipped into the proffered slippers with a murmured thanks before Diane turned her attention to Clint.

“And you would be Clint, then?” Diane asked, and opened her arms to him as well.

Clint was more reluctant. He’d been through a number of foster and group homes, and he’d seen motherly types turn out to be nothing of the sort. He also looked to Phil for encouragement, then allowed himself to be embraced.

Diane, as perceptive as her son, did not linger in the hug, despite her maternal instincts wanting to scoop both of these people into her pocket and fuss over them. Instead, she stepped back and smiled broadly. “This is my husband, Alex,” she gestured, and Phil’s father stepped forward to shake each of their hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Natasha said, but there was wariness and confusion in her eyes.

Phil stepped around his nieces to take Natasha’s hand in his left and Clint’s in his right. “Do you suppose we could get settled before dinner?” Phil asked. “It’s been a long drive.”

“Oh! Of course.” Diane clapped her hands, gesturing towards the bags. “Rose, Lily, take those upstairs to the Blue Room, loves. We’ll just give you some time to freshen up.”

The girls obediently began hauling the luggage up a flight of stairs. Phil grabbed a bag in each hand and followed after them. Natasha and Clint reached for each other and, carrying the last of the luggage in their free hands, climbed the stairs behind Phil.

The Blue Room turned out to be a nice bedroom in shades of blue with a king size bed. The girls deposited their burdens at the foot of the bed and, after another quick hug of their Uncle Phil, disappeared. Clint closed the door behind them and leaned against it.

“Are you alright, pretty bird?” Phil asked softly, stepping to Clint’s side and cupping his face with one hand.

“I will be,” Clint assured him. “Just… a lot to take in.” He leaned into Phil’s touch.

Natasha sank onto the bed, watching her husbands. She too felt overwhelmed, and was glad Phil had read her as skillfully as usual. Meeting new people wasn’t a problem for her, typically. She was accustomed to it, as part of the job. She was less accustomed to meeting people as herself – as Natasha Romanoff, with no masks or covers.

She must have made some sort of sound, because the next moment Phil was sitting beside her on the bed, tucking her against him. Clint sat on her other side, and for a moment they just savored the closeness.

“I need to go have a few words with the family,” Phil told them, rising and reflexively straightening his shirt.

“Do we have time for a nap?” Clint asked, only half-joking.

“No,” Phil answered with a smile, “but I expect we have time for other things, if we’re speedy. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He leaned over and kissed them in turn, then left them in the room together.

As he’d expected, the family had moved to the kitchen. He stood for a moment just watching the organized chaos of dinner preparations before his mother noticed him. “Something wrong with the room?” she asked.

“No. I just wanted a word.” He reached to straighten his tie, remembered he wasn’t wearing one, and changed the movement to running his hand through his hair. “I’m afraid it’s tall talk,” he said to the twins.

In an uncharacteristic move, they did not protest. Sarah watched them leave with surprise, before turning to her brother. “Alright. Spill.”

“Clint and Natasha are Agent Clint Barton, call sign Hawkeye, and Agent Natasha Romanoff, call sign Black Widow. That information doesn’t leave this room,” Phil said in a quiet voice. “I’m their handler for SHIELD. That’s the majority of the reason we’re not telling people.”

His father frowned, disapproval radiating from him. “Son, this could damage your career. Hell, it could be the end of it.”

“I know,” Phil said firmly. “We know. We’ve talked about it, and agreed. This is infinitely more important.”

Diane raised her eyebrows. “You sounded less confident this morning.”

Phil held up his left hand, showing them the wedding band. “We visited Sherrod this morning on our way out of DC. Clint’s idea, not mine.” His quick smile was both fond and amused. “He didn’t know I knew Sherrod. Bit of a shock, really.” He ran his thumb over the wedding band, eyes distant. “I’ve loved them both for a long time. Finding out it was mutual took divine intervention.” With a small shake, he brought himself back to the present. “There is something I’d like you not to bring up, though, Mom. Natasha is… very sensitive about the possibility of children. There’s some physical complications in addition to our jobs. It would be best if the subject didn’t come up.”

“Is she alright?” Diane asked, already concerned.

“She’s fine,” Phil answered quickly. “Mostly. It’s just… difficult for her. She loves our niece and nephew – Clint’s niece and nephew – and I expect she’ll love the rest of mine, but if you bring up her having children of her own, she’ll shut down entirely.”

“I’ll see to it,” Diane promised. “We wouldn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable here at home.”

Phil smiled, soft affection dancing in his face. “Thanks, Mom.” He hugged her briefly before heading back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

~ * ~


	7. Chapter 7

When he pushed open the door to the Blue Room, Natasha and Clint were still sitting on the edge of the bed, arms around each other’s waists. Phil shook his head fondly and stepped up to them, tilting their faces up in turn for kisses. “Are they really that intimidating?” he asked gently, maneuvering them around until he could sit between them, one arm tucked possessively around each waist.

“She gave me slippers,” Natasha answered, her voice wavering. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“She knows I love you, and that’s enough,” Phil told her soothingly. “Mom’s got a little bit of whatever it is Catriona’s got. I can’t even describe it, just that innate…”

“Momness,” Clint supplied. “You’re right. It’s easier to see it in Catriona because she’s got it in spades but yeah, I can see it in your mom too.” He shook his head, curling tighter against Phil. “You know, until Catriona, I hadn’t let anyone hug me like that in years.”

Phil wanted to ask – wanted to know who had ruined casual affection for his lover – husband – and make sure they never ruined another soul – but he also knew it wouldn’t solve Clint’s problem. “Do you need them to back off? They will, but it’ll be tough. My family’s not as tactile as Catriona, but they’re huggers.”

“We should have brought Catriona,” Natasha murmured. She nuzzled her face into Phil’s neck.

“It doesn’t seem fair of us to drag her on our family vacation,” Phil disagreed. “Surely she has holidays of her own to observe.”

“With who?”

There was a heavy silence as all three pondered Natasha’s question. Catriona openly admitted she didn’t have any family left, and very few friends. She was the only woman remaining of Gaia’s Druids – and she didn’t speak of any of the remaining druids by name.

Clint let out a long sigh. “We almost screwed that up, Sunshine, treorai. I think we’d better invite her.”

“I’ll ask Mom if she’s got another room ready. The Green room would suit, I think,” Phil mused.

“Not the White?” Natasha asked, with a hint of her usual humor.

Phil gave a mock shudder. “It’s done up in doilies and lace and Victorian gewgaws. If that appeals to our barefoot friend, I’d be shocked.”

Clint flashed Natasha a mental image of Catriona done up in a pure white Victorian walking gown, complete with handspun lace, and her bare toes peeking out under it.

“As would I,” Natasha admitted.

“Let’s go talk to Mom, and then we can see if Catriona’s free.” He stood and offered a hand to each of his partners, bending to kiss their knuckles.

“I don’t know how to respond when you do that,” Clint complained, but didn’t pull away.

Phil’s smile was amused and affectionate. “Just love me, pretty bird. The rest we can work out.”

~ * ~

“Oh good, I was about to send the girls up to let you know dinner’s ready to go on the table,” Diane said as she carried a bowl of mashed potatoes into the dining room.

“I don’t suppose there’s space for one more?” he asked, grabbing the breadbasket from Sarah automatically and placing it in the proper place in the dinner setting.

Diane gave him a very dirty look, and Alex laughed. “Your mother’s mortally offended you’d think she wouldn’t have spare for a hungry traveler, m’boy.”

“I actually meant another room,” Phil explained. He gestured Natasha and Clint into chairs – close to the girls, knowing Clint would relax faster with the children.

“Problems?” Alex asked, eyebrows raised. He flicked his eyes between his son and spouses.

“Not in the slightest,” Phil reassured him. “But we just realized we’d like to invite a friend who doesn’t have anyone to spend the holidays with.”

“She’s more like a sister,” Clint added. Phil was happy to see that his plan of softening up Clint with his nieces was working. “When we realized she didn’t have anyone…”

Natasha squeezed his hand gently and took over the narrative. “I haven’t got any family of my own – other than these two – and so Clint and I just kind of… adopted her.”

“Like Mom and Momma adopted us?” Rosalie asked, from beside Clint.

“Not exactly the same – it’s a little different when you’re grown-ups. But the basics are the same – we promised to treat each other like real brother and sisters.” Clint looked up at Phil. “Complete with boneheaded mistakes, I guess.”

“There is plenty of room for another person here,” Diane assured them. “But how will she get here?”

The triad exchanged glances – almost as much information was in Phil’s eyes as was flashing between Clint and Natasha’s minds. “Let’s see if she’ll come, first. We’ll explain if we need to,” Phil answered for the three of them.

Diane blinked. “Classified?”

“Do we need to step out?” Sarah asked, pausing as she dished mashed potatoes onto her wife’s plate.

“Catriona is… somewhat… classified. But you don’t need to leave – if she does come, she’s unlikely to hold much back.” Phil smiled fondly. “Once she has decided you are a friend, she opens her heart wholly. It’s utterly charming.”

His father raised his eyebrows, and Clint almost laughed to realize the expression matched one he saw on Phil’s face regularly. “You know her intimately?”

“Dad!” Sarah protested immediately, as Phil tensed. Clint and Natasha reached for his hands in unison.

Phil’s voiced had dropped to a dangerously quiet rumble when he answered. “Catriona is a dear friend, one of the kindest souls I know, and a woman of unparalleled virtue. Neither she nor I would violate the sanctity of our triad, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

Alex raised his hands in defense. “I had to ask.”

“You did not,” Diane protested, smacking her husband on the shoulder. “Polyamorous does not mean not monogamous, as you damn well know.”

“Language,” Sarah chided automatically, glancing towards the twins, who were listening avidly.

“I’m sorry, son,” Alex apologized. “Your mother is right.” He nodded his apology at both Clint and Natasha. “Ordinarily I’m a bit more diplomatic. I suppose I’m still in a bit of shock. You’re the first partners that Phil has brought home since—”

“Don’t,” Phil interrupted. “Please.”

{What the fuck?} Clint asked Natasha silently, even as he ran his thumb comfortingly over Phil’s knuckles.

Natasha’s eyes flicked from Phil’s utter stillness to his abruptly tense family members. {I don’t know, but I don’t like it.} She could see Phil struggling to contain his emotions – she couldn’t read him well enough right now to know exactly what they were, but she could identify grief and anger.

Iris, Sarah’s wife, cleared her throat. “How was the drive? I was a little surprised to see you pull up in that red devil of yours in this weather.”

The new conversation topic was seized eagerly, and Phil managed an appreciative smile at his sister-in-law as the meal resumed.

~ * ~

“Just ask,” Phil sighed as he closed the bedroom door behind him. “You’re both nearly vibrating with it.”

Natasha crossed her arms, pinning her husband with a glare. “Why don’t I make a few guesses, and you can tell me when I’m wrong. The last person you brought home was a man, and whatever happened between the two of you was traumatic. He either died or betrayed you, and he’s the reason you’ve got intimacy issues. Your family never really expected you to recover, and they sure as hell didn’t expect you to bring home a woman. How am I doing so far?”

Phil swallowed, wishing he’d thought to bring liquor up with him – anything, really, to dull the ache. “Full marks, as usual, Agent Romanoff.” He tried for humor, but his response was flat. “It wasn’t an ‘or’, though.” He took a deep breath, willing away the constriction in his chest. “He was SHIELD, and went rogue, and was killed in an operation. By me. I made the call, I pulled the trigger, I killed him.” A shudder ran through him, emotional pain made physical.

“Agent Price,” Clint said, realization dawning. “Damn, Phil.” The incident had happened before he’d joined SHIELD, but he’d read the case file when he’d been assigned under Phil. There’d been no mention of a romantic relationship between the two men – but then, as Phil had said so often, fraternization between agents was against SHIELD policy.

“Why haven’t you told us?” Natasha asked quietly. Her anger at the admission was fading as she saw the depth of Phil’s wounds, but she still didn’t like being uninformed.

Phil opened his mouth to answer, but no words would come. Helplessly he met her eyes, hoping she could see what he did not have the ability to say. Natasha slid her arms around him, pulling his head down to her shoulder. She felt Clint wrap himself around Phil from behind, until they surrounded him. It was a moment before he began to speak, his face pressed into her neck and voice barely a whisper. “Can’t. Couldn’t. This was the only place we were out – nobody but my family knew we were together. Couldn’t risk our careers – he wouldn’t risk his.” He was still trembling, but the warmth of their embraces was easing the worst of it.

{That explains a few things,} Natasha remarked silently to Clint, running soothing hands down Phil’s body.

{He can’t even say the name, Sunshine.} Clint’s reply was agonized. {How did we not see this? How did I not?}

“Tell us about him, dearling,” Natasha urged gently. “Tell me about the man you fell in love with. What color were his eyes? Did he know about that ticklish spot under your left nipple?”

Slowly, Phil began to answer her questions. They moved eventually to bed, still cuddled close, and it was nearly dawn before sleep claimed them.

~ * ~


	8. Chapter 8

Natasha was not surprised to be the first awake – the combination of her Red Room serum and Gaia’s gifts meant she got by on very little sleep. She debated leaving the room, but decided her morning communion with the Goddess was more important than seclusion.

She dressed quietly, slipping down to the kitchen and out the back door she’d noticed the night before. It led to a well-groomed kitchen garden, dormant now. She slid off her shoes and sank into a cross-legged seat next to a bare trellis.

\\\Blessed be, M’inion Nat. You seem troubled.//

{I am.} She let the Goddess see the muddle of her thoughts and feelings, no longer reticent in their contacts. 

\\\You did well,// Gaia assured her. \\\It is good for your treorai to speak of his lost beloved.//

{Was he… did he love…} Natasha trailed off, not sure how to ask the question. 

\\\Your treorai’s ties to you and Boghdoir Barton are infinitely stronger, m’inion,// was the immediate reply, and there was no censure in the Goddess’s tone. \\\It was love, of a sort, but the pain and grief are more for the betrayal than the beloved.//

Natasha felt something settle inside her, a release of tension she hadn’t noticed until it was gone. It wasn’t that she doubted Phil’s love, she knew – Goddess only knew why he loved her, but she was certain he did.

\\\It is not that he did not trust you or love you enough to tell you, m’inion,// the Goddess told her gently. \\\He did not wish you to see him as weak, or broken.//

{He isn’t.}

\\\Not to you or I, alanna, but I fear that your treorai feels elsewise.//

{How do I help him, Mother?}

\\\Love him, dear m’inion.//

When Natasha roused herself fully from her communion with Gaia, it was to see Phil’s sister Sarah standing on the back porch in a fluffy robe, a cup of steaming tea in her hand. Sarah gestured at her earthen seat. “You always sit barefoot in the snow?”

“No. The snow is new,” Natasha answered. Her reply, while entirely factual, was said in such a manner as to let Sarah see it as a joke.

“Right.” Sarah appraised Natasha as she stretched out the kinks of having sat motionless on the cold ground for an extended period. “Damn. I knew Phil had good taste in men, but I had no idea he had such an eye for the female form.” It wasn’t a come-on, but an honest assessment of Natasha’s physical attraction – and her surprise at Phil’s choice.

Natasha, well used to her body being objectified, offered instead a half-smirk. “What makes you think he pursued me? What if it was the other way around?”

Sarah scratched absently at her uncombed hair. “I kind of figured it was a two-for-one deal. You and Clint move like you’ve been together years.”

Inclining her head in agreement, Natasha stepped onto the porch, brushing snow and dirt from her pants. “Clint and I have been field partners for years. We trusted each other – and Phil – with our lives long before there was anything else. In point of fact, Clint and I were together romantically less than three days before Phil completed our triad.” Ordinarily, Natasha resisted giving out this much personal information – but these were Coulsons. Not her Coulson, but he trusted them absolutely, and she would do so as well.

“I didn’t mean it like a bad thing,” Sarah answered defensively. “Just… after…”

“After Ken Price, you didn’t think he’d bring anyone home again, and all of you are scrambling to rebuild the box you’d fit him into.” Natasha leaned back against the porch railing, her eyes on Sarah’s.

“He told you?” Sarah looked relieved. “Thank God. I could tell you didn’t know, at dinner, but it’s not my story to tell, and I knew he’d never forgive me.”

“Goddess,” Natasha corrected automatically. “Yes, he told us. We had a long talk. I intend to have a talk with a few other people as well.”

Sarah winced. “Don’t kill my dad. For real. I know you’re a scary assassin with a bad-ass codename, but he’s just my dad. He sometimes talks before his brain catches up to his mouth, but he’s not evil.”

Natasha sighed. Her reputation was very helpful in her professional capacity, but less so on a personal level. “I’m not going to kill anyone.” Then she smirked. “Director Fury made Phil promise not to let us commit any felonies in Wisconsin.”

“And I bet you promptly figured out how far we were from the state line, didn’t you?” Sarah asked dryly.

Her laughter surprised them both, and Natasha shook her head in amusement. “I did, but it was more professional habit than personal premeditation.” Her expression softened. “Even if I were so inclined against your father, I would not deprive your girls of their Papa.” Something flickered across Sarah’s face, and Natasha looked away, across the snowy garden. “I take it Phil told you that we have… issues to deal with regarding children?”

“Am I just that easy to read, or are you that good?” Sarah demanded.

“A bit of both,” Natasha admitted easily. “I learned to read your brother, and he’s a lot more subtle.”

Sarah blew out a breath. “Yeah, he told us it was a sticky subject, and not to bring it up. Which I didn’t, for the record, so please don’t tattle on me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” Natasha returned her gaze to Sarah, a smile flickering at the corners of her lips. “You’re probably the only one it won’t ache to hear it from, though,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s not as though there’s such a thing as spontaneous pregnancy for a lesbian couple.”

“You’re right there, thank God.” Sarah shook her head. “We’d talked about donors, maybe even asking Phil and having Iris carry but – well, the twins happened to need a family at the same time we did. It was the right thing for us.” 

“I don’t know if it will ever be the right thing for us,” Natasha admitted quietly. “Our jobs aren’t exactly safe, and neither Clint nor I had happy childhoods. None of us want a child to go through what we did.”

Sarah reached out, slowly enough that Natasha could have moved away, and grasped her shoulder. “Even if the worst were to happen, no grandchild of Alex or Diane Coulson will ever be without a loving home. I’m not saying that should solve the question for you, but keep it in mind, will you? You’re part of a family now, and we take care of our own.”

Natasha felt a warmth bloom inside her, and she let it show in her eyes as she and Sarah stood on the porch, watching nothing together.

~ * ~

“Come on, pretty bird. Even hawks have to eat,” Phil teased as he coaxed his husband out of bed. 

“I can make it worth your while to stay in bed,” Clint wheedled.

Phil laughed. “Your stomach would protest and spoil the mood. Come on, love. I want breakfast, and then I want you to get in touch with Catriona.”

“And find our wayward spider,” Clint agreed, shuffling finally to the bathroom. “I’ll meet you downstairs, if you promise there will be coffee.”

“There’s always coffee, and if you think my French toast is good, remember who taught me.”

Clint’s eyes lit up, and his movements quickened. “I’ll be right down.”

Phil trotted down the stairs chuckling to himself. “You’re in a good mood this morning,” his mother greeted him at the kitchen door. He kissed her cheek and moved to pour himself a mug of coffee and a second, larger one for Clint.

“Of course I am.” Phil smiled at her, and she was surprised at how genuinely relaxed he was, given the rather tense dinner conversation. “I’m in one of my favorite places on the planet – Mom’s kitchen – awaiting the arrival of one of my two spouses, spying on the delightful figure of my other spouse, and looking forward to the visit of someone whose company I genuinely enjoy.” He made an expansive gesture with his free hand and grinned.

“I know you’re watching me,” Natasha called from outside. Despite the cold, she was continuing her morning exercise routine in a suit similar to her tactical ‘catsuit,’ one that both her husbands enjoyed immensely. She executed a graceful handstand before continuing in the series of movements that was both exercise and meditation – violence and grace.

“Damn, did I miss the best part?” Clint asked, entering the kitchen and seating himself next to Phil at the breakfast bar. Phil slid his coffee to him and he took it with a murmured thanks.

“She’s almost to the pirouettes,” Phil told him.

“You know her exercise routine?” Diane asked in surprise.

“Sure,” Clint shrugged. “I helped her develop it. I even do it with her, if one of them can pour enough coffee into me before she gets started. She knows mine, we know Phil’s.” He looked puzzled. “Is that weird?” He looked to Phil, his usual gauge for normalcy.

“Not for us,” Phil assured him, and then couldn’t help but cup a hand around Clint’s cheek and draw him close for a reassuring, tender kiss.

Clint dropped his forehead to press against Phil’s a moment before returning his gaze to Natasha’s form. “Ah, here we go.”

Her feet still bare, Natasha began a series of increasingly brisk pirouettes, spinning with the elegance of a prima ballerina en pointe, her face serene even as beads of sweat began to form at her hairline. She didn’t bother to count them – she knew her husbands did – but she knew it was well above what a normal dancer could do.

Fatigue and the scent of French toast finally drew her out of the paradoxically relaxing concentration, and she dropped automatically into a graceful courtesy towards her watchers. Her husbands didn’t clap, but they did smile broadly as she ran a towel over her face and shoulders, joining them at the breakfast bar. “Every morning I watch you do that, it feels for a moment like it’s just your spinning that keeps the world moving on its axis,” Clint told her, leaning forward to kiss her softly.

“Hopeless romantic,” she teased, but he knew she was flattered nonetheless. She turned to Phil next and greeted him with a sweet, tender kiss completely at odds with the lethality her exercise had displayed.

Diane stayed quiet, not wanting to intrude. For all Phil’s announcement had come as a surprise, she could see that this was not a casual relationship for any of them. The rings were hardly necessary to mark their union. If ever love were embodied, it was in the three sitting in front of her now. Her son, son-in-law, and daughter-in-law, Diane corrected herself. Legally binding or not, she would respect their union as a marriage – because if ever three were one, then surely these three.

Phil cleared his throat, and Diane realized she’d been staring. She turned back to the stove, her cheeks flaming. “If we weren’t comfortable with you seeing, I wouldn’t have done it,” Phil told her dryly. “This is one of the few places where I can kiss either of them just because I want to.”

“She’s just embarrassed that she liked it,” Natasha said in a stage whisper to Clint, who choked on his coffee as he tried to stifle a laugh.

“God, it’s like having teenagers again,” Diane complained.

“Goddess,” all three of them corrected automatically, and then burst into laughter.

“Alright, what gives?” Sarah asked, coming back into the kitchen in time to hear both correction and hilarity. “All of you’ve been doing that. You convert to Wicca and not tell us?”

“Not exactly…” Phil paused, looking to Natasha and Clint.

Clint sighed and held out his hand, fisted, to Natasha. “Best two out of three, winner chooses between talking to the Goddess and talking about Her?”

“Deal.” After three rounds of rock-paper-scissors, Natasha was declared the winner. “Go talk to the Goddess, dearling,” Natasha told him. “I’ve already had my moment with her. I’ll do the explaining.”

“Just another reason I love you,” Clint told her gratefully, kissing her swiftly before disappearing out the backdoor, shedding footwear as he went.

“You are the only people I know that take shoes off when they go outside, and put them on indoors,” Diane remarked.

“There’s a reason for that,” Natasha began.

~ * ~


	9. Chapter 9

Clint shivered as his toes sank into the disturbed snow, but the physical discomfort was easy to ignore when he felt the Goddess in his mind. {Morning, Mama.} He sank down into a crouch, pressing his palms down to the ground as well. He knew it made him look an overgrown child playing leapfrog, but he liked the extra contact.

\\\Blessed be, Boghdoir Barton.// He felt the immensity of Her regard and let his mind open to Her, breathing deeply as he relaxed.

{I know Nat talked to you earlier, and it was probably about Phil, but I’m actually here to talk about Catriona,} Clint explained.

\\\And what is it about my druid that you would like to discuss?//

{Would she like to join us for Christmas vacation?}

There was a pause, and Clint thought he’d actually managed to surprise the Goddess. \\\She would likely accept an invitation, yes. She is required at the Grove for the Yule services – on the Solstice – but would be free to join you once her ceremonial duties have been performed.//

Clint waited a beat, but when the Goddess did not explain, he finally said, {You know I have no idea what any of that means, right?} He grinned as he felt Her amusement. He liked that he could show Her humor. She didn’t exactly laugh, but there was a sensation almost like a tickle across his ribs that he knew was a sign of Her enjoyment.

\\\In time, either myself or Catriona Alanna will teach you of the traditions we keep. They are not, of course, identical to those practiced when my druid was a child, but there are remnants of the old ways still celebrated. It matters not at present, aside from her obligation.//

{Will you ask her for us? We still haven’t managed to talk her into a cell phone or a satellite phone – it seems disrespectful to ask You to be our go-between, but I don’t know how else to contact her.}

\\\I will convey the invitation. I do not mind, though it would be well to see Catriona Alanna accept new forms of communication.//

{Solstice is Tuesday, right? So she could be here Wednesday?} It was only Sunday – Wednesday felt very far away.

\\\Her obligation is over just after the stroke of midnight which shifts from Tuesday to Wednesday, in Eire. It would be but six of the evening when she is free.// He felt her amusement again. \\\Perhaps this year, she will celebrate Yule twice in one day.//

{Dinner Tuesday?} Clint asked hopefully. He really did want to see Catriona – they’d managed brief visits in the past few months, but as all four of them were committed to their responsibilities, it was a scheduling nightmare to have time together.

\\\Unless you hear otherwise, yes. She will be weary from her duties, but I expect she will not wish to delay joining you.// There was a pregnant pause before the Goddess continued. \\\I thank you, Boghdoir, for thinking of my druid, for including her in your family.//

Clint tried to shrug her gratitude off, but it was difficult to ignore a deity currently sharing space in his head. {She’s easy to love.}

\\\Aye, but so few try.//

{I know it’s none of my business but… her heartmate, her achroi ghra – will it be any time soon? In my lifetime?} His tone was wheedling, but his intention was true – it pained him to see Catriona so lonely.

\\\The time nears with each turn of the wheel,// the Goddess responded cryptically. \\\It is not in my power to determine the future, but the portents indicate it shall be within the decade.//

{I’d say thank God, but that seems a little disrespectful,} Clint responded as relief flooded him, warm and heady. {So instead I’ll say, I can’t wait to see it.}

\\\I, too, anticipate the bond with much eagerness,// Gaia agreed. \\\Go now, my archer. Your mind grows weary from my touch, and I would not wish to injure you.//

{Thanks, Mama.} While he called her Big Mama humorously to others, an occasionally to Gaia Herself, when he referred to her as Mama, it was with the love and devotion of a true son to a nurturing mother – something he hadn’t felt in decades, but which filled cracks in his psyche he had long since thought permanent.

\\\It is my pleasure, Boghdoir.// Clint felt the connection severed and stayed crouched a moment longer, letting himself adjust to reality again – to be aware of sensations other than his communion with the Goddess.

When he reentered the kitchen, it was full of people. {What did you do, Sunshine? You turn into some knife wielding version of the Pied Piper?}

{It seemed prudent to only explain once,} she responded. Sarah and Diane had already been in the kitchen when he’d stepped out, but Iris and Alex had joined them, as well as four unfamiliar adults. The resemblance between the women suggested these were Phil’s other sisters, which meant the men were most likely their spouses – which implied one of the two would be Derek, the brother-in-law that Phil had most hoped to avoid.

{How much are you telling?} He leaned back against the wall, looking relaxed and casual, but she could see tension in his frame.

{Phil has apparently decided on full disclosure – including showing Derek his credentials. I’m pretty sure Derek still thinks they’re fake.} Natasha flicked her eyes briefly to the taller of the two men. {The sisters are still caught up on the triad concept, and haven’t really absorbed the ‘I work for a Goddess’ part of the message.}

“Well?” Phil asked Clint, one eyebrow lifted.

“Tuesday, dinner time. Six-thirty or seven. Apparently she’s got some Druid thing to take care of Tuesday that runs until midnight Ireland time.” Clint shoved off the wall, crossing to Phil and sliding a possessive arm around his waist. “She did say that – how’d She put it – that the ‘portents indicate’ that Catriona’s heartmate will show up within a decade.”

“I hope so,” Natasha murmured. She shifted her chair backwards towards her husbands, who were leaning against the breakfast bar. She could now brush her shoulders against either of them, and they could reach her hair and hands. Without hesitation, she reached up to grasp Phil’s hand when it came to rest on her shoulder, and twisted until she could press one leg up against Clint’s.

“Oh my God,” one of the sisters breathed. “You weren’t joking.”

“No, Meg, I’m not,” Phil replied patiently, but even his vaunted calm was being tested. He’d expected the disbelief and derision from Derek – he’d hoped for better from Megan.

Darla was regarding him curiously, face unreadable. She was tucked against her husband, a solidly muscled black man with a military bearing and perfect composure. Phil liked Thom – they hadn’t interacted much, but he had a dry wit that had lightened many family gatherings for Phil.

“You wouldn’t by any chance know a Colonel Fury at SHIELD, do you?” Thom asked.

“Director Fury? Nicholas J?” Phil blinked. “He’s my boss.”

Thom started to chuckle. “Well, hell. Here I thought you were some CIA spook, and you’re working for my cousin Nicky.”

Darla turned in her husband’s arms to stare at him. “Nick? Eyepatch Nick?”

“Oh, man,” Clint breathed. “Oh please, tell me there are more embarrassing nicknames. Tell me he wet the bed as a kid or used to hide under the bed during thunderstorms.”

“Clint,” Phil said in a resigned, admonishing tone.

“Nah, I didn’t grow up with him,” Thom answered, chuckling at Clint’s enthusiasm. “Saw him once or twice a year at our grandparents’ place.”

“At – are you telling me you’re also a Howling Commando legacy?” Phil asked, stunned.

Thom’s grin widened. “Yup. Heard you’re a bit of a fan. You ever get hold of those last three trading cards?”

Clint turned to see a flush rising in Phil’s face, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a Christmas miracle,” he told Natasha. “Look.” He gestured at their husband’s face, and Natasha grinned at them both.

“I’ve never seen you turn that color outside the boxing ring, treorai,” Natasha murmured. Mindful that they were not alone, she didn’t let her voice drop to the sultry octave it wanted – she left that for her eyes to convey.

“Why do you both keep calling him that?” Derek demanded. “What barbaric language is it?”

Phil’s eyes rolled up as he counted to ten, hoping for patience, before he answered. “It’s Gaelic, old Celtic Gaelic. Catriona tells me it means something like ‘guide.’ I don’t think I’d consider the Celts barbarians,” he continued thoughtfully. “And I certainly wouldn’t recommend referring to them as such in Catriona’s presence.”

Megan sniffed derisively. “That won’t be an issue. Our flight leaves in the morning – by the time your little hippy arrives, we’ll be on a boat in the Caribbean.”

“Little hippy,” Natasha repeated. Phil and Clint, both well acquainted with the warning signs of Natasha’s temper, stepped back hastily as the assassin rose from her chair, moving with exaggerated care. “Barbaric language.” She shifted her gaze to Derek, who flinched and tried to cover his reaction with bluster. “I’d think before you speak of mladshaya sestra – my little sister – like that again.”

“No felonies,” Phil reminded her quietly, though he was certain some of the others in the room heard him.

“Knock it off, all of you,” Diane Coulson commanded, with every ounce of maternal disapproval she could muster. “There will be no fist fights – or any other kind of fights – under my roof.”

Natasha inclined her head at Phil’s mother, a regal expression of respect. “As you wish.” She seated herself again, reclaiming her physical contact with her husbands, her expression calm and bland. “I will defer to the matriarch.”

Diane blinked once in surprise, but recovered quickly. “Thank you.” She made eye contact with each person in the room. “Can we continue this conversation as civilized adults?”

“I don’t see that there is much to discuss,” Iris offered. Phil’s eyes flickered to her. Of all his in-laws, she was by far his favorite – she had a knack for dispersing arguments. Her psychology degree probably didn’t hurt. “Phil has brought home his significant others to meet his family, and his sister-in-law will be joining us when she can. He’s finally been able to tell us which government agency he works for – but has asked for our discretion in order to protect their organization.” She shrugged, deliberately casual. 

“An admirable summary,” Alex agreed. “I’m not sure how much of this Gaia stuff I understand, but it sounds enough like a religion for me to treat it as such – with respect that it may be different than my own, but still of value.”

“Druidism is a religion,” Natasha supplied. “Catriona’s full title is Lady Catriona Alanna O’Clare, The White Druid, High Priestess of Gaia.”

Sarah let out a long, low whistle. “That’s quite a title.”

“I think it’s taller than she is,” Clint remarked, winking at Natasha. She rolled her eyes.

“I think the twins might be taller than she is,” Natasha agreed. “Did you ever get her to hold still for Laura to measure?”

Clint snorted. “I’m fairly certain the only time she holds still at the farm she’s either asleep or meditating.”

“Farm?” Darla asked.

“My brother and his wife, our niece and nephew,” Clint explained, “live on a farm in Iowa. We spent our last leave there, all four of us.” {Mostly,} he added silently to Natasha.

Derek’s eyes narrowed, and Phil resisted the urge – again – to apply force to the situation. “I hope the Goddess is right about the timeline for Catriona’s heartmate,” he said instead. “She’s waited long enough. I saw the envy she tried to hide,” he added in a quiet voice. “I think she was almost as ashamed of being envious as she was jealous in the first place.”

“How long?” Megan asked.

The triad exchanged another glance of a thousand words before Phil answered. “Twenty three centuries, give or take a decade.” He heard a snort, probably from Derek, but chose to ignore it.

“Imagine the things she’s seen,” his father remarked, eyes going distant. “Questions she could answer.’

“If you have any luck getting a straight answer out of her about a historical mystery, do let me know,” Phil told him with a sigh. “She’s got some sort of ethical code about revealing that which has been lost to history.”

Thom snorted. “A two millennia old druid who believes in the Prime Directive.” He shook his head. “Now I’ve seen it all.”

~ * ~


	10. Chapter 10

“Part of me wishes they were hanging around until Catriona arrives,” Natasha murmured to Phil as Derek and Megan said their goodbyes in the hallway outside the kitchen. “She was able to force good behavior out of Barney… I bet she could do it to Derek, too.”

“I don’t know,” Phil sighed, shaking his head. “At least Barney sets a good example for his kids. If it weren’t for their cousins and grandparents, Meg’s kids would be holy terrors.”

“They’re better,” Sarah assured him quietly. “Mom talked Meg and Dar into putting all their kids in the same private school the twins go to – the Bonnevue Institute – and it’s helped.”

“Goddess, a dozen Coulson kids in one school,” Phil replied, shaking his head. “I feel sorry for their teachers.”

“You do realize it’s just the twins that are actual Coulsons?” Sarah asked, grinning. “Five Shepherds, five Andersons, two Coulsons.”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” Iris chimed from the kitchen sink, where she was washing the mugs used for the morning’s conversation.

Clint laughed. “Can you imagine adding Cooper and Lila to the pack?”

“Owen - one of Dar’s boys is Cooper’s age,” Phil said thoughtfully. “Or is it Anna?”

“Depends on his birthday,” Darla answered dryly. “Owen and Anna aren’t even a full year apart, remember?”

Natasha blinked. “I’m guessing infertility is not a trait that runs in your family.”

“No, rather the opposite, “ Darla laughed. “So you’ll want to be careful –” Darla began, her tone teasing, but was cut off by both mother and younger sister with sharp glares.

Clint and Phil winced, and Natasha sighed. “It’s alright,” she said quietly. “Regardless of whatever Phil told you, I’m not going to go catatonic if someone brings it up.”

“Oh,” Darla breathed. “I’m sorry.” She was visibly uncomfortable, embarrassed that she’d brought up what was evidently a taboo topic.

“Not your fault,” Phil told her. “You weren’t here when I talked to Mom and Sarah. There’s some…”

“Complications,” Natasha supplied smoothly.

“Complications involved with the possibility of us,” and Phil gestured to himself and his spouses, “having kids. Issues besides careers,” he added, at Thom’s knowing look.

“Can we leave it at that?” Natasha asked. Her tone was neutral, but there was a plea in the eyes she turned to her husband.

“Of course, love,” he answered immediately, and pulled her to him, tucking her into his right side much as Clint was against his left. “When are you heading out?” he asked Thom. “To your parents, I mean.”

“After we meet your druid,” Darla responded firmly for her husband. “We’ll probably leave Friday morning. The kids like to spend Christmas Eve at the ranch.”

“I’d like to meet them,” Clint offered. “If that’s alright with you. I like kids,” he said, almost defensively.

Natasha snorted. “That’s because you like to act like one, dearling,” she told him solemnly.

“Evil minx,” he retorted. He pointedly looked away from her and back to Thom and Darla, who were both hiding smiles. “Any of them play paintball?”

This time it was Phil who huffed his amusement. “You think I’m going to let a master sharpshooter loose on my nieces and nephews armed with anything other than a rubber band, you’ve got another think coming.”

Clint pouted. “It’s not like they hurt,” he protested.

“Tommy – our oldest, he’s nine – is rather keen on laser tag,” Thom offered diplomatically. “There’s a place in town we take them to on occasion.”

At the mischievous smile on Natasha’s face, Phil chuckled. “Alright. Your brood, Clint and I versus Natasha.”

“That hardly seems fair!” Darla protested.

“I know,” Phil said, shaking his head. “Perhaps Rose and Lily would like to join us.”

“I meant for Natasha!” his sister protested.

Natasha laughed, genuine amusement only slightly marred by the truth. “Darla, even if you and your husband joined in, I’m still going to win. I’ve been trained by the most ruthless and effective organizations in the world since I was young. Younger probably than your children. The only person likely to beat me at a game of laser tag is Tony Stark, and he’d probably have to be in the Iron Man armor.”

Sarah, Darla, and Iris chuckled as though this were an overconfident boast, but Thom regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re the Widow, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Natasha answered evenly. Her eyes flickered to Phil, who shook his head.

“I didn’t tell him. I told Mom and Dad, and Sarah and Iris,” he said, nodding to his sister and sister-in-law. “Sorry, Dar, Thom – I didn’t want to tell Derek, which meant not telling you…”

Thom shook his head. “No apology needed. I’m MARSOC, I understand compartmentalization.”

“Translation for the civilian?” Iris prompted.

“Marine Corps Special Operations Command,” Thom supplied. “Marine version of an Army Ranger or Navy SEAL. I’ve run a few ops with SHIELD teams, listened to some scuttlebutt. Didn’t seem likely there were two incredibly hot, extremely deadly redheads in the upper echelon.”

Darla elbowed her husband. “No ogling.”

He grunted, probably more forcefully than the jab warranted. “I wasn’t ogling,” he argued. “It doesn’t count when it’s statement of fact.”

“It’s fine,” Natasha told him with a small smile. “I’m used to it. I was trained to use all available weapons – including my sexuality.”

Phil discovered he had to pull her tighter against him at that admission, breath catching slightly. He’d directed her on plenty of missions where they counted on her curves to disarm the enemy as much as her combat skills, but it was different now. She was his, and if he had his way, she would never be asked to show so much as a shoulder on an op if she didn’t want to.

“Easy, dearling,” Natasha murmured. He tried to relax his arm, not to clutch at her so tightly. “Phil. I’m fine. We’re fine,” she told him, and raised her hand to stroke his cheek gently.

“We’ve got rules about that word,” Clint reminded her, even as he pressed closer to offer Phil comfort as well.

Natasha drew Phil’s face down to hers, pressing her forehead against his. “Treorai. Achroi ghra.” Clint murmured the words with her.

Phil let out a long, ragged breath and straightened up, only now realizing he had curled protectively around Natasha. “I’m sorry, love.” He’d have run his hand through his hair – or thrown back a drink – if his hands hadn’t been claimed by his spouses. “Just had a moment.”

“You’re allowed,” she reminded him, and cupped her hand around his cheek a moment before easing back just enough that he wouldn’t feel pinned in. “Don’t mind us,” Natasha said with a rueful smile.

“It’s actually rather lovely to see the three of you together,” Diane said from the doorway. Her husband stood behind her, also looking at them affectionately. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this content, Phil.”

“I’ve never been,” Phil told her. He let himself relax into Natasha and Clint, feeling them do the same. “Especially to be here, and together…” his eyes drifted over his parents, sisters and in-laws. “I know it sounds corny, but I didn’t even realize that I could feel this much, until I did.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to work,” Diane murmured. 

~ * ~


	11. Chapter 11

Clint, unable to let the moment stay saccharine, looked around uncomfortably. “Where are the kids anyway? Shouldn’t we be fending off childish antics by now?”

Iris laughed. “They’re at my parents’ house, working on Christmas gifts. The kids always want to make things for each other and their parents, and my Mom is the only one with enough patience to help them all. Dad watches the youngest while Mom crafts with the older ones.”

“Huh.” Clint considered this, frowning. “All twelve of them?”

“Yep. As far as the kids are concerned, any grandparent of their cousins is fair game,” Sarah added. “Part of that’s being in a small town, and part of that is because my in-laws are awesome.”

“I did pretty good in the in-law game too,” Clint agreed, but made a face. “Too bad I have to have Barney to get Laura and the kids.”

Natasha kissed his hand where it rested against her and smiled. “They’re worth it.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, but his eyes were still troubled.

“Do you normally spend the holidays with them?” Diane asked. She’d taken over cleanup from Iris, though there wasn’t much else to be done. “Your brother and his family?”

Clint’s attention refocused, and he frowned. “Uh, no. We don’t usually get the holidays off. I actually don’t remember the last time I wasn’t on call for Christmas.”

“Four years ago,” Natasha supplied immediately.

“That doesn’t count. I was stuck in the medbay with a gunshot to the thigh,” Clint reminded her.

“Well, you weren’t working,” she replied with a shrug.

“Gunshots a regular hazard of the job?” Alex asked cautiously. He didn’t want to press about what were obviously classified operations, but he wanted his newest son- and daughter-in-law to feel comfortable discussing their work, if they wished.

Phil’s smile was affectionate and rueful. “Not for me, much, anymore,” he answered. “Mostly I’m the one on the comms telling the team not to shoot the civilians. These two, though…” he shook his head at his spouses. “There’s a running pool in the medical ward – each week’s loser has to take either of them, when they come in.”

“I don’t know why they hold such a grudge,” Clint grumbled. “I didn’t actually shoot the nurse. I just threatened her.”

“You threatened her with me, dearling,” Natasha told him. “A knife, a gun, your bow – those wouldn’t faze a SHIELD medical officer. You told that poor woman that if she left another bruise on you, you’d tell me they were all her fault.”

“Clint,” Phil sighed. “What have I told you about threatening the staff?”

Thom was unable to continue to contain his laughter, and it boomed through the kitchen until he was bent nearly double, his wife watching him with humor in her own eyes. “Oh, God, this is better than a sitcom,” he finally choked out. “The way Nick describes SHIELD is like some futuristic, defensive organization – it would not surprise me in the least if he thinks of it like Star Trek’s Federation of Planets. And you three…” Thom had to stop to laugh again. “God, to hear it from your side, it’s more like an episode of the A-Team.”

“If you quote Mr. T, you’re sleeping on the floor,” Natasha said immediately to Clint, who stuck his tongue out at her.

“It’s a challenge, certainly, to work with such highly skilled, eminently professional individuals,” Phil dead-panned.

~ * ~

They arranged to meet the Shepherd clan – Darla, Thom, and all five children – at the laser tag arena the following afternoon, before the couple departed to fetch their children and attend church services. To Phil’s surprise, Sarah and Iris took their daughters to church as well, leaving just his parents at the inn.

“You know, we can watch the Inn if you two want to go,” Phil told his parents. “It’s not as though there are any other guests at the moment.”

Diane waved his offered away. “If we go, all anyone will want to talk about is you – and I don’t feel like being interrogated today.”

Natasha turned to look at Phil, who lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Apparently, I’m some kind of – what, mascot? Folk hero? – around here,” Phil told her, visibly uncomfortable at the idea.

“It’s why we close the Inn when he visits,” Alex explained. “That first year, I’ve never served so many cups of coffee during morning brunch.”

Clint frowned at his husband. “What did you do? Wear a tactical uniform home?”

Phil flushed. “No.”

“You wore the suit,” Natasha deduced, her eyes sparkling. “Did you wear the sunglasses too, dearling?”

“I most certainly did not,” Phil answered stiffly.

“Half the eligible women – and quite a few of the men – found a reason to stop by the inn while he was in his shirtsleeves,” Diane told Natasha with a smile. “Being such a dutiful son, he was helping me in the kitchen – sleeves rolled up, apron on over his tie.”

“Please tell me there are photos,” Clint breathed.

Alex laughed. “There are, somewhere.”

“A highly secure, classified location,” Phil agreed, and he had yet to control the hint of pink in his cheeks.

Natasha chuckled, cupping her hand around Phil’s reddened cheek, and kissed him lightly. “I’d settle for a historical reenactment.”

Phil met her eyes, and found no teasing in them – just love, and a genuine curiosity. “Alright.” He turned to Clint, who was looking a little surprised at his acquiescence. “Do you want me to put on the suit, or those jeans you packed? And would you prefer blueberry or cranberry muffins?”

“Blueberry,” Clint answered immediately.

“Jeans,” Natasha added when Clint didn’t answer the fashion question. “With the pale blue button-up and a tie,” she added, tilting her head to picture Phil in the garments.

“As my lady wishes,” he said, his eyes twinkling, and disappeared upstairs to change.

Diane shook her head. “The way you three manage each other is amazing,” she said with a laugh.

Clint grinned at her. “You mean the way Natasha manages us?”

“It’s mutual, dearling,” Natasha told him. “Or did you think there was some other person on this planet who could get away with calling me Sunshine?”

“Uh…” Clint thought about that, giving it serious consideration despite the lightness of Natasha’s tone. “Maybe Lila?”

“Maybe Catriona,” Phil supplied, returning in the requested clothing, already rolling up his sleeves. “You let her call you achara, among other endearments.”

Natasha nodded her agreement, but her attention was no longer on the conversation.

“I can see we’re now superfluous,” Alex told his wife, smiling. “I’m going up to the office to get some bookkeeping done.”

“I’ll be in my craft room. The kids aren’t the only ones with gifts to finish.” Diane waved at Phil and his spouses – none of whom seemed to notice her departure, and the triad were left alone in the kitchen.

Phil slipped the apron on over his neck, tying it neatly behind his back. “Did you want to help, or just watch?” he asked. It could have been taken as teasing, but his spouses knew it was a genuine question.

“Watch,” Natasha answered immediately. “You two got your fun watching me sweat this morning… I’d like a turn as an audience member.”

“I’m hopeless in the kitchen, treorai,” Clint protested.

“I’ve baked with the kids, I can bake with you,” Phil told him, capturing him briefly for a reassuring kiss. “But if you’re not inclined, I don’t actually need the help. I’ve been making these muffins for the better part of my life.”

Clint slid onto a bar stool next to Natasha. “Watching is good. Plus, coffee,” he said, refilling his mug from the carafe. He offered it to Natasha, who shook her head.

“I’m surprised you don’t bleed coffee,” Phil told him, opening cupboards and depositing ingredients on the countertop. Natasha snorted.

“I’m surprised he doesn’t taste like coffee,” she purred, winking at both of her husbands. Phil flashed her a suggestive smile, but didn’t respond verbally.

There was silence for a time save Phil’s distracted humming as he sifted flour, broke eggs one-handed, and soon had several muffin pans lined up on the countertop, ready for their turn in the ovens. He dusted the flour off of his hands before turning back to the breakfast counter and his spouses, reaching to untie the apron. He paused at the looks on their faces. “What?”

Clint swallowed, fairly certain that the verbal ball was in his court, given the near incoherence of Natasha’s mind currently. “We, uh… like the apron. And the whole… domesticity thing.” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “We’re both kind of…”

Phil laughed, finished removing the apron and moved to stand behind his spouses, kissing them both. “Even in the jeans?” he teased gently.

“Especially in the jeans,” Natasha agreed fervently.

“I love watching you be so relaxed,” Clint told him, leaning his head against Phil. “It’s like… watching a bow straighten after you’ve taken off the bowstring. Intellectually you know how much force the string puts on the bow, but it isn’t until you’ve seen it at rest that you really understand.”

Running a gentle hand down Clint’s hair, Phil smiled. “I’ll choose to be flattered that you’ve just compared me to your weapon of choice.”

“You were like this at the farm, too,” Natasha told Phil, also leaning her head against him. “You aren’t always, at home. It’s like it takes you a day away before you really let go of the job.”

“It isn’t the job,” Phil admitted. “It’s the fear.”

Clint’s brow furrowed. “Fear of what?”

Phil was quiet, trying to formulate an answer. “Have you ever dated a man? Openly?”

“No,” Clint answered, still confused. “I was never really the dating type. Not looking for Miss – or Mister – Right, just Miss Right Now.”

“There are reasons my parents changed the specialty of the Inn from a typical B&B to something targeted at the LGBT community,” Phil began, still trying to force his thoughts into order. “Wisconsin is… not the most open-minded place in the world. Sarah and I were both bullied, though she’s enough younger than I am to have missed the worst of it.” He shook his head. “She’s only a year younger than you are, Clint, but it’s a world of difference. I was… well. My first lessons in hand-to-hand combat weren’t in a ring,” he admitted. “In those days bisexuality wasn’t well understood, and so they just labeled me as gay… and made me suffer for it.”

“That’s why you and Agent Price weren’t public? Or part of it?” Natasha asked.

Phil nodded, still unable to discuss that relationship comfortably. “Intellectually I know that the culture has changed a lot – I graduated high school in the eighties, and attitudes have definitely shifted – but it’s difficult to overcome that much fear.”

“But you’re safe here,” Clint confirmed. “Safe at the farm, too. Even if people know or find out, you don’t feel as though you’re in danger for your sexuality.”

“There are only a handful of places where I can relax fully,” Phil told them, his voice quiet and regretful. “Not many. Not many people, either.”

Natasha slid her arm around him, squeezing reassuringly. “You don’t have to apologize for it, treorai. I don’t relax easily either.”

“None of us do,” Clint agreed. “I didn’t mention it to make you feel like you don’t relax enough… I’m flattered, and humbled, to be given the opportunity to see you do it.” Clint smiled at Natasha. “Both of you. It’s… something beautiful, and you’ve let me be a part of it.”

“Hopeless romantic,” Natasha teased, but there was less taunt in her tone than affection.

“Evil minx,” Clint retorted without any heat.

“Mine,” Phil said, holding them close.

~ * ~


	12. Chapter 12

As had happened at the Barton farmstead, the triad slipped into the easy rhythm of the house like long-time residents. Natasha and Clint meditated and sparred outside, despite the snow, while Phil watched from the kitchen, usually while baking. They rested in each other’s company, often curled up together on the couch in the living room, each with a different book in hand. 

When it was time to meet the Shepherd family for the promised game of laser tag, Clint was almost vibrating with excitement. Natasha kept a straight face, but she wanted to laugh at his antics. Phil didn’t bother to hide his amusement. They took Lola into town, and Phil patted her fondly as they got out to walk into the game center.

“Not even going to lock her?” Clint asked, surprised.

“No need, here. There isn’t a person in this town that doesn’t know who she belongs to,” Phil answered, with a small smile. “People may not know the full story, but they know I work for a government agency. They mostly give me – and Lola – a wide berth.”

“Do you need us to be… discreet?” Natasha asked, her hand paused in the air. She’d been reaching for his automatically, but the reminder that this was not necessarily safe territory stalled her movement.

Phil frowned, considering. “You know what? No.” He was firm and somewhat defiant when he said it, reaching for Natasha’s hand and gesturing for Clint to move close enough to take his as well. “I’ve got issues, but that’s on me. I want there to be places that we don’t have to hide,” he said, tugging on Clint’s hand to pull him closer. “Besides,” he said, a crooked smile on his lips, “if anyone tries to beat me up now, I’ll sic my personal assassins on them.”

Clint grinned and leaned forward, slowly enough to be stopped if necessary, and kissed Phil lightly. He did the same to Natasha. “Good.”

“I’ll have to be creative,” Natasha told him, her face perfectly composed though her eyes were sparkling. “No felonies, remember?”

Phil was still laughing as they pushed open the door and entered.

“Lord, but I’ve missed that sound,” his sister Darla said, spotting them and striding over to pull her brother into a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you this happy, Lip.”

Phil groaned. “Did you have to?”

Clint seized upon the nickname immediately, as Phil had feared. “Short for Philip?” he asked Darla, his grin almost blinding.

“I couldn’t say his name for the longest time,” Darla laughed. “Sorry, Phil. It slipped out.”

“Uh huh.” There was blatant disbelief on his face, but humor as well. “I suppose it’s only fair, I’ve been using nicknames for everyone else.”

“I like it,” Natasha told him, smiling at Darla as well. “I never used to have nicknames – just aliases. First time Clint’s nephew called me ‘Auntie Nat’ I just about bubbled over with love.”

“You should tell him that,” Clint advised. “Maybe when he’s a little older, but I think he’d like to hear it.”

Darla smiled at all three of them, then gestured to where her kids and husband were strapping on game gear. “Well, we’d best gird our loins.”

Clint looked over the equipment with a professional eye, and Natasha picked up several of the ‘weapons’ before settling on one. Phil shook his head. “Please do remember that this is a game, loves, and one involving children.”

Thom chuckled, doing his own evaluation of the equipment. “Might be fun for me to go up against one or both of you solo, if the kids need a break. I don’t get as much PT time as I used to.”

“You could probably beat me,” Phil assured him. Clint and Natasha traded glances.

“Mmm… not to burst your bubble, treorai, but you’re damned near as good as Natasha is,” Clint told him finally, after so quick telepathic conversation with their wife.

“Language,” Darla murmured.

“Sorry, Laura,” Clint replied automatically, then barked an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, Darla. Usually I’m saying that to my sister-in-law. My other sister-in-law.” He puzzled for a moment. “My first sister-in-law? Da—dang it. I’ve gone from having three family members to a whole clan.”

“And we’re glad to have you,” Darla told him sincerely, with an affectionate smile.

She turned then to introduce them to her brood. “Alright, kids – you remember Uncle Phil? This is his wife, Auntie Nat, and his husband, Uncle Clint. It was Uncle Clint’s idea to come play today. These are our kids,” and she pointed at each of them in turn, “Tommy’s the oldest at nine. Emily is eight. Grace is seven. Anna is five and the youngest is Owen – he’s four.”

“Hi,” Clint said, a little awkwardly.

“We’re happy to meet you,” Natasha said, flashing them a smile that Phil recognized as one of her public faces.

Phil crouched down next to Owen and offered out his arms for a hug. “You want a hug, buddy? I know we haven’t seen each other in a while, but I still don’t bite.”

“Hard,” Natasha and Clint chorused, which made everyone laugh.

It broke the tension of nervous children, and soon all ten of them were suited up and stepping into the game room. By the time they exited the arena three hours later, easy friendships had been formed, as well as a great deal of awed respect for their new Auntie Nat.

Thom stripped off his game vest, shaking his head. “I take it back. I’m never going solo against any of you.”

Phil laughed. “You should see the two of them spar. I’ve had to start recording their sessions and slowing them down to show new recruits – they move so quickly that the combat blurs.”

“Who wins?” Darla asked, helping the children out of their gear.

“With a ranged weapon, Clint does,” Natasha answered, stowing equipment away efficiently. “Hand to hand, I do. In strategy, Phil does.”

“You spar with your wife?” Thom asked Clint in amazement.

Clint smiled, both wry and cynical. “I spar with my partner, Agent Romanoff, and anyone else my handler, Agent Coulson, orders me to.”

Thom let out a low whistle. “You aren’t out at work?”

“No,” Phil answered, and pinned his brother-in-law with one of his no-nonsense, Agent-Coulson-is-in-charge glares. “And it stays that way.”

“Got it.” Thom shook his head. “Wouldn’t do that to you.”

Natasha offered him a crooked smile. “We also spar with the rookies. Our handler seems to feel that we’re excellent at puncturing inflated egos.”

Phil laughed. “You are. I send them with Barton on the obstacle course and the combat ring for a few weeks, spend a week or two with Romanoff on the shooting range, and they start to get cocky – think they’re in the same fighting class. Then I switch the instructors, and watch as recruits melt into boneless, bruised piles under Romanoff in the ring, and eyes pop out at Barton’s marksmanship on the range.”

“I don’t suppose we’re nearing that point with the Summers squad?” Clint asked hopefully. Phase one of their plan wasn’t one of his favorites – but he did love phase two.

“Probably, by the time we go back, they’ll be ready,” Phil told him, unable to keep an affectionate smile from his lips.

As the men herded the children towards the food court, Darla gestured to Natasha. She hung back, turning to Phil’s sister in curiosity.

“I know this is laughable, coming from me,” Darla started, “but I need to say it anyway. If you break his heart, I swear to God I’ll see you suffer for it.”

Of all the reactions she’d expected, the smile of melting affection wasn’t one of them. Natasha surprised them both by reaching out to hug her sister-in-law, unable to speak for a moment. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright. “I know. I’m glad to hear it.”

Darla blinked, tilted her head to one side, and frowned. “That isn’t the typical response to a threat, you know.”

“It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise, to protect someone I love. I respect that.” Natasha smiled and turned to follow the rest of the family.

“You’re not upset?”

“At you? For that?” Natasha’s lips quirked. “No. If I were to break Phil’s heart…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I’d deserve whatever you could come up with, on top of whatever the Goddess has to say about it.”

{You need backup, Sunshine?} Clint asked her from his vantage point some feet away, his eyes carefully not watching the two women.

“We’d best rejoin them,” Natasha told Darla, still amused. “Clint’s trying to determine if he needs to extract me from the conversation.”

“Hey,” he protested as they stepped up to the table. “I was trying to be discreet about it.”

“You’re about as discreet as a magpie, when you’re feeling protective,” Phil told him, kissing his cheek lightly as he passed the bottle of ketchup to his niece. “And you get this wrinkle right here,” and Phil touched a finger between Clint’s eyebrows, “when you’re talking to Natasha.”

Natasha slid into a chair on Clint’s other side, stealing a fry from his plate. “You’ll have to work on that,” she told Clint solemnly. “You shouldn’t have such an obvious tell.”

“It isn’t,” Darla assured Clint. “It’s obvious to them, not to the rest of us mere mortals.”

Phil snorted. “Still mortal, Dar. No super powers for me.”

~ * ~


	13. Chapter 13

The triad parted ways with the Shepherd family in the parking lot. Phil kept a smile on his face until his sister’s family had pulled away.

“What’s wrong, treorai?” Natasha asked quietly as they slid into Lola’s leather seats.

“I hate being watched,” he murmured in response.

Clint nodded. He’d felt the eyes on them as well – not hostile, but curious. Shocked, and sometimes a little scandalized, but he hadn’t felt threatened. Phil, though, had made a career of being invisible. Even as a field agent, his value had been as a nonentity – witnesses could look straight at him and yet be unable to describe him when asked later. Clint reached a hand through the gap in the front seats – he’d chosen to sit in the back – and squeezed Phil’s shoulder lightly. “Thank you, for this,” he said, and nodded at the game center. “I know you’d rather stay home.”

Phil met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “It’s good for me,” he said wryly. “Mom would love to give you all the ins and outs of me being a homebody.”

“I like you the way you are,” Natasha told him, running a gentle hand along his thigh. “I’m used to being watched – I don’t want you to have to become accustomed to that, if it isn’t something you like.”

“I don’t mind when you do it,” he told her, and included Clint in his small smile. “I don’t mind it from the kids, either, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully.

“It isn’t the watching that bothers you.” Clint sat back in his seat, turning the idea over in his head. “It’s the judgement.”

As he started the car, Phil had to agree with his husband’s assessment. “You’d think I’d be past that age,” he said drily.

“It’s not something you age out of, dearling.” Natasha looked out the window, her eyes distant. “You are either forced not to care, or force yourself not to care.”

He shot her a quick glance, but she didn’t look his direction. “Voice of experience?” he asked lightly.

“I was molded to capture attention,” she answered softly. “I can do stealth, but more often it’s distraction that’s my entry point. At some point, I think I learned to thrive on the attention – the stares, and the catcalls, and wandering eyes.” She turned back to him, her voice firmer. “They can watch you all they want, treorai, but they don’t get to judge. They do not see all of you, any more than they see all of me. That is for my Goddess, and my achroi ghra.” With a sharp nod, she settled into her seat, her face serene.

Silence stretched for a few miles as they returned to the inn. It was Clint who broke it, finally. “Gaia has been good for you, Sunshine.”

“That particular bit of wisdom came from Catriona,” Natasha admitted. “Though I suppose she, too, comes from Gaia.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing her tomorrow.” Phil’s tone was affectionate.

“As am I,” Natasha agreed.

“Big Mama did say she’d be tired,” Clint reminded them. “We shouldn’t expect too much. I mean, I don’t know what ceremonial duties she’s got going on, but Mama did sound like they were exhaustive.”

Phil turned into the Inn’s drive, parking Lola neatly and turning off the ignition. “I’d like to learn more about them. These ceremonies, and the other druids.”

Natasha frowned. “Catriona does not seem particularly… fond of the other druids. She’s never spoken of them by name.”

“She mentioned that one – the Elder Craftsman. The blacksmith,” Clint reminded her.

“Mmm. Did she use his name?” Natasha asked sweetly. Clint stuck his tongue out at her. “That’s my point, though. When was the last time you heard Catriona call one of us by our titles? She’s more likely to use a nickname than our full names, even, and yet she doesn’t speak of her fellow druids. It makes me wonder.”

“She said once she’s the only female druid left,” Clint mused. “I wonder if that has any impact?”

Phil held open the front door for them, shutting and bolting it behind them. “It would have to,” he guessed. The only woman amongst how many – ten? A dozen? – druids, and committed to celibacy until she finds her heartmate?”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Clint frowned. “You don’t think they like… harass her, do you?” His posture stiffened, as though he were ready to charge into protective battle.

“I doubt Gaia would allow that,” Natasha demurred. “But I can imagine that none of the others have kept such a vow. How many lovers and wives do you suppose they’ve watched age and die, while Catriona remains untouched?”

That was a sobering thought, and one that made both her husbands reach for her. “That would lead to some… complicated emotions,” Phil admitted. He sank onto the couch, pulling Natasha down with him, and tucked her in against him. Clint joined them, seeming intent on as much contact as he could manage as well.

Not that long ago, Natasha would have objected to their possessive protectiveness. The last six months had taught her instead to sink into it, to accept their love and return it. She rested her head against Phil’s chest, listening to his heart under her ear. 

“Did the children wear you out?” Diane asked, a bit surprised to see the three of them ensconced on the couch in the late afternoon twilight.

“No,” Phil reassured her, running a hand down Natasha’s hair. “Thinking serious thoughts did.” At her lifted eyebrow, Phil continued. “The passage of time, mostly. Catriona.”

“The idea of losing loved ones for thousands of years,” Natasha added, her voice muffled somewhat against Phil.

“Ah.” Diane sat down in an armchair, watching them.

Clint, who was lengthwise alongside Natasha with his head on Phil’s shoulder, smiled at her crookedly over Natasha. “Having someone to lose is still kind of new to me,” he admitted. “Until my niece was born, I could count the people I cared about on one hand… and that already included these two. You know, she’ll be a year old tomorrow,” he reminded his spouses.

“I know,” Natasha smiled. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget her birthday – it’s the day I was Chosen.”

“I’d rather forget that particular panic, if you don’t mind,” Phil said drily. “Clint off in Iowa, stand-in birthing team to replace that wretched brother of his, and Natasha going incommunicado during a retrieve-and-raze mission in a location definitely unfriendly to SHIELD agents.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure which was more terrifying, being unable to reach Natasha on the comms, or needing to tell Clint that I couldn’t reach her, while he was a good twelve hours away from her location.”

“You weren’t together yet then, were you?” Diane asked.

“No,” Clint answered. “Not… like this.”

“But there’s always been something.” Natasha lifted her face a little from Phil to look at Diane. “Even when I wasn’t sure of anything else, I knew that I could trust these two. And I don’t trust easily.”

“I can imagine.” 

Phil shook his head. “I don’t think you can, Mom.” His arms clutched both bodies tighter against his, though his face remained calm. “I hope you never have to. The work we do, the things we see – I hope…” His voice trailed off, unable to articulate his desire to protect his family – to protect as many as possible – from the world he lived in.

“I do remember, Philip James,” she told her son sharply. “Your father was a SHIELD agent before you were born. I may no longer be the wife of an agent, but I was at one time.” Phil shot her a surprised look, but she continued. “I admire you for wanting to keep us safe through ignorance, son, but don’t for a moment think that we actually are unaware of what goes on.”

“We’re stronger than you know.” His father’s voice, from the doorway, startled Phil. “I won’t press about your work – will never put you in the position of having to answer my questions with a lie.” Alex Coulson moved to stand behind his wife’s armchair, a hand on her shoulder. “Whether you tell me not the deciding factor in whether I know a fact.” His smile was weary and a little sad. “Just as there is no such thing as an ex-Marine, I’m afraid there’s no such thing as an ex-SHIELD agent.”

“Just a dead one.” Phil’s flat answer brought all eyes to him. Clint and Natasha both sat up, hands reaching for Phil’s, before he shook his head. “No. I’m alright. It’s true, though.” His gaze met his father’s. “I can’t protect you through ignorance – but I can’t protect anyone through transparency, either.”

“I’m not asking for full disclosure,” his mother protested. “Just…”

“Do them the favor of trusting they can handle the truth,” Natasha murmured to Phil.

“You’re right,” Phil said finally, nodding at Natasha, then to his parents. “I’m sorry. I haven’t – I haven’t been keeping you in the dark because I don’t trust you. I wanted this to be… home to be…”

“A refuge from it?” Clint asked, a smile lingering in the corner of his mouth. “Like the farm?”

“Yes,” Phil admitted. “You brought me home to your refuge… I wanted to do the same.”

“It’s different,” Clint told him. His entire posture had relaxed when he’d finally understood Phil’s intention. “Laura is the reason I go home to the farm, Laura and the kids. Barney is my brother, but I don’t… well, I don’t go to see him,” Clint sighed. “I don’t tell Laura about my missions, our work, because she’s not mine to tell. She’s Barney’s wife, and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want her involved. Hell, he keeps her so far removed that I had to hold her hand when Lila was born, because he wouldn’t compromise the operation he was on for the birth of his daughter. For the love of Gaia, please don’t base your relationship with your family on how my ignorant, arrogant, bone-headed brother treats his wife.”

Phil blinked, nonplussed. He hadn’t considered it from that angle – that the uneasy truce between brothers was the reason for Clint’s reticence. Prior to their romantic relationship, Phil had kept his family fairly up to date with his own operations – amusing anecdotes about his coworkers, an overview of what he was working on, and an idea of when he’d be available, and when he couldn’t be disturbed. Since visiting the Barton homestead, he’d cut most of that detail out of his conversations with his mother, sisters, and father – after all, the time on the farm had been a restorative to his soul that he hadn’t known he’d needed, and he wanted to preserve that.

“It is times like these that I almost – almost! – wish that you were Chosen,” Natasha told Phil. “I’d prefer you avoid near-death experiences, but it would be much easier if I could see into that thick skull of yours, instead of waiting for one of us to find the key to the vault.”

Diane laughed, her own tension easing as she watched her son relax into the couch. “Oh, Phil,” she said between chuckles. “I am so glad to see you with someone – two someones – who can get through to you when I cannot.”

Reluctantly, Phil laughed too. “Alright. I’ll stop using your brother as an example, pretty bird, if you promise you’ll stop holding my sisters up next to Laura.”

“I… wasn’t…” Clint protested weakly.

“You were,” Natasha agreed. “I don’t know how he knew, but you know damn well that I can see you thinking it, dearling.”

“Not that Laura isn’t a fine woman, and an excellent mother,” Phil added hastily. “I’d just rather you judge my sisters for themselves.”

“Deal. But you’re going to pay for calling me ‘pretty bird’ in front of your parents.”

~ * ~


	14. Chapter 14

At dinner Monday evening, Clint entertained the twins and their mothers with a wildly embellished tale of the ‘epic laser battle’ they’d contested earlier in the day. In it, he and Phil were the imperiled generals of a highly trained warrior order, competing with the royal family of some impoverished nation, against the beautiful and mysterious Cat Warrior. 

“And then, just as we had her surrounded,” he said, and paused for suspense, “she threw up her hands in what was taken as a surrender by her foes and, upon the premature celebration of their victory, she slew them all in one triumphant, spectacular spiral of bright, red, magical light – until all of her foes lay whimpering before her, and she stood laughing at their meager defense.”

“None of you whimpered,” Natasha pointed out.

“But that’s cheating!” Rose protested. “You pretended to give up but you took it back!”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “Is that cheating?” She turned to Phil, her expression worried. “You didn’t say anything.”

“If we’d set rules ahead of time, it might have been against the rules,” Phil told her and his nieces. “And if Uncle Clint and I had been thinking clearly, we would have realized she was playing possum. That means I failed as a general – I didn’t see the other side’s tactics until it was too late to respond to them.”

“No,” Natasha shook her head. “No, Rose is right.” She turned crestfallen eyes at her husband. “I should apologize to Darla’s family. I wasn’t playing fair.”

“You weren’t playing,” Clint told her gently. He’d watched her thought process while they played, though he hadn’t let it affect his own performance. He’d been worried that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy herself, but he’d seen the same satisfaction in her that she showed sparring with rookies – pride in her abilities and mastery of herself. “It was a mission for you, Sunshine. I knew that, and so did Thom and Darla.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Natasha’s tone didn’t have the sharpness he’d expected, and when Clint touched her mind he saw a deep hurt where he’d expected to find irritation.

Rose, who was a sensitive child, knew she’d upset her newest aunt, and stood up from her seat at the table to walk around and put one thin arm around Natasha’s shoulders. “It’s okay, you didn’t mean to,” Rose told her.

It was abruptly too much for the redhead. Clint felt it a moment before she did – tears began coursing down her cheeks, her breath hitching as she tried not to audibly sob. Rose looked utterly horrified but didn’t pull away. Natasha turned to her helplessly, and to the amazement of everyone in the room, clutched the girl to her and cried into her shoulder.

{Sunshine?} Clint ventured, but she wouldn’t – or couldn’t – formulate an answer.

“Outside?” Phil asked Clint.

“Why outside?” Lily asked. She’d moved to stand next to her twin, but didn’t touch the sobbing Natasha.

“Gaia can help,” Clint told her. “Come here, Sunshine.” He scooped Natasha up in his arms gently – he had to disengage her from Rose – and nodded to the back door. Phil opened it and followed him outside. Clint set her down in the garden spot she’d taken to using for meditation and stripped off her shoes, before doing the same to his own. He sat down next to her and cradled her against him, gesturing for Phil to join them.

{Mama?} Clint asked, reaching for the Goddess.

\\\Boghdoir Barton, M’inion Nat… Treorai.// Phil was startled to hear himself addressed, but it appeared that his physical contact with Clint and Natasha allowed the Goddess to make herself heard. \\\What ails you, m’inion?//

{I’m broken,} Natasha managed to whisper. {I don’t even know how to play a children’s game. I can’t – I can’t be –}

\\\Be at ease, m’inion. You are not broken.// The Goddess’s touch was soothing, and the tears slowed on Natasha’s face, her breath coming more easily. \\\You cannot know what no one has ever taught you, alanna. You did not have the childhood that these younglings do, and so you do not see the world as they do. That is not a flaw, my dear Natasha. It is an opportunity for you to learn.//

Phil was stunned at the depths of pain he could hear in Natasha’s mental voice – the raggedness that eased with the Goddess’s words. He felt humbled to be included in the communication at all, but he also felt helpless – he had tried to reassure Natasha, tried to say all of the right things, but she still doubted herself.

{How do I learn, Great Mother?} Natasha asked – begged. Phil had to swallow hard, tightening his grasp on Natasha.

\\\Let one who has this knowledge guide you in it, m’inion. Learn to play by playing with the children. The youngling who spoke to you earlier, she is a start,// the Goddess urged. \\\If you ask, she will teach you.//

{Is there anything I can do, Mama?} Clint asked.

\\\No, Boghdoir. You have learned to play, but you learned by observation. M’inion needs someone who was taught.// There was a pause. \\\Your treorai could assist in this learning, but it is my wish that he allow this to happen with the younglings.//

Of course, Phil agreed with the Goddess. It would do Natasha and his nieces good to spend time together, and he wanted her to feel comfortable with his family – all of them, not just the adults.

 

{I’ll ask Rose, or Lily,} Natasha told the Goddess. {I’m sorry. I keep thinking I’m over this – crippling self-doubt, and it creeps back in.} Irritation colored her tone now. {It pisses me off.}

The ripple of Gaia’s amusement made all three of them grin at each other, somewhat foolishly. \\\My dearest Natasha, if you did not doubt yourself, I would worry about you. As it is, know that I love you as you are, and that if there were ought wrong with you, I would have sent my druid to you to heal you ere the wound festered. It is well that she shall be with you tomorrow, m’inion. I did not foresee this, but it appears that the Yule Solstice coinciding with your Choosing has made you more sensitive to the stirrings of the Wheel. Yule is a time of rebirth – new beginnings. But as with all beginnings, that also means something ends, and I believe it is that which you are feeling, m’inion. You feel the shifting from dark to light, and it has made you aware of light and shadow within yourself.//

It was the longest explanation she’d been given yet by the Goddess, and though it was in clear enough words, Natasha knew she didn’t fully understand it yet. {Is it… dangerous?}

\\\No, m’inion. It may make you short of temper or light of patience ere the time is past, though.//

{Great. Psychic mood swings,} Natasha said, trying for dry humor and missing the mark. {Is this a Warrior thing, or a woman thing?}

\\\It is a bit of both. Most of my female Warriors are sensitive to the turning of the Wheel, but those whose Choosing has been on one of the holy days appear to be more so. I am unsure, Boghdoir, if it will affect you as well.//

{Why would it? I was chosen in June.}

Another ripple of amusement. \\\Yes, you were chosen on Litha, the opposite solstice, that which you know as Midsummer.//

{Huh.} Clint wasn’t sure how to respond to that. {I don’t feel any different today than any other day.}

\\\See if that state maintains on the morrow, my archer. For this eve, it would please me greatly if you would see that the younglings are eased of their distress, and that you retire to your quarters. Your souls have suffered much strain in these past few days, and I would wish that you ease them.//

{Yes, Mother,} Natasha answered, a fraction of a second before Clint’s {Yes, Mama.}

The presence of the Goddess faded from their minds, and Phil stood, offering a hand to each of his spouses. “I’m guessing She meant Rose and Lily are upset,” Phil said, using the hands they had taken to pull both into his arms, curling protectively around both his loves.

“I’m surprised you could hear Her,” Clint told him, gratefully embracing the older man and running a soothing hand down Natasha’s back as well.

“I am too, but grateful nonetheless.” Phil cradled them against him, knowing they needed to go inside and follow Her orders, but needing this moment of unity first.

Natasha finally drew away, wiped her eyes, and laughed embarrassedly. “How do I explain this to your family? I go a little insane on the shortest day of the year?”

“You’re not insane, my love,” Phil reassured her automatically. “If anything, I’d say it doesn’t take anything away from you but your masks. You’re more… transparent, if that makes any sense.”

“I know how to live behind the masks,” Natasha admitted, slipping her footwear back on. “It’s without them that I find myself a bit… loose.”

“Hold on to me, then, Sunshine,” Clint said, offering her his hand. “I’ll keep you anchored.”

“We’ll keep you anchored,” Phil corrected, taking her other hand.

Together they stepped back into the kitchen, braced for whatever emotional damage they needed to mend next.

~ * ~


	15. Chapter 15

Inside the Rainbow Inn’s kitchen, Phil’s youngest sister held one daughter on her lap while her wife Iris held the other. Natasha didn’t take the time to figure out which had more freckles on the left (Lily) or the right (Rose) and just sank to her knees between the two girls. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” she told them, her voice quiet but much calmer.

“Are you okay?” the one on Sarah asked – Lily, Natasha realized, now that she was close enough to see them in comparison.

“I will be,” Natasha told her with a small smile. Phil stepped up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Rose said around a stifled sob.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, any of you,” he told his nieces, squeezing Natasha’s shoulder so that she would know he included her in his statement.

“Oh, alanna.” Natasha rose just enough to wrap her arms around the twins, one around each small set of shoulders. If Phil and Clint had needed any more indication that Natasha’s behavior was Goddess-affected, that Gaelic endearment was it. Clint shot Phil a look with a raised eyebrow, and he nodded slightly that he’d noticed it too. “I know you didn’t. I just…” she shook her head, not sure how to tell an eleven-year-old about her past. “I grew up in a bad place,” she settled on. “And I didn’t learn a lot of things that children usually learn. I learned other things – but not much about being a child.”

Rose sat back, pulling away from Natasha just enough to look gravely in her eyes. Then she nodded. “You don’t have to tell us about the bad place,” she assured her aunt, making eye contact with her twin. “It’s okay.”

“We almost went to a bad place,” Lily told her. “We were too little to remember it, but Mom and Momma had to work really hard to keep us from going there.”

Natasha’s eyes widened and she looked back at Phil. “Not…”

“No, love,” Phil reassured her. “Not like yours. A different kind of bad.” He squeezed her shoulder again but that time, he wasn’t sure if he was giving comfort or receiving it.

“She still doesn’t have to tell us,” Rose said mutinously, glaring at her uncle. “Unless you want to, I mean,” she backpedaled, offering Natasha a shy smile.

“I don’t, alanna, and it’s nothing against you.” Natasha offered the girl another hug. “I don’t talk about that place any more than I have to.”

“Even to us,” Clint said softly. He was seeing far too much of the Red Room in Natasha’s thoughts, but he’d never have asked her to shield him from it.

Sarah and Iris, who had remained quiet through the exchange, trading meaningful glances. “At some point,” Sarah told her brother, “it might be a good idea to have that conversation, Lip. I mean, so that we know what not to step in.”

Phil winced at the nickname, but still smiled at his sister. “That’s up to Natasha,” he said. “It isn’t my story to tell, and I would never presume.”

“If she doesn’t want to talk about it, she doesn’t have to,” Rose insisted.

Natasha felt a warmth bloom in her cheeks and heart, and she squeezed the fierce twin again. “You would stand as a shield for any, wouldn’t you, alanna?” she murmured. “You and your sister are very special, and I understand now why the Goddess wanted me to ask you to teach me.”

“Teach you what?” Lily asked skeptically. “You’re pretty smart already. I don’t think we can help.”

“How to play,” Natasha answered, sinking back onto her heels so that she was looking up at the girls. “I didn’t learn, when I was younger. That’s why I made that mistake today, when we played with your cousins. I acted like I would if it were real, if it were really me fighting bad guys. I don’t know how to do it just for fun. Clint does,” and Natasha looked back over her shoulder at him to smile, “even though he didn’t really learn it when he was young either, but he’s better at it than I am.”

“You want us to teach you how to play?” Rose’s incredulity was thick, but she didn’t seem to be rejecting the notion. Natasha nodded. “How to have fun?” Another nod. “Huh.” She sank back into Iris’s lap. “Okay. Not tonight, though.”

“No,” Phil replied, smiling at his nieces. “Gaia wants us to spend some quiet time together tonight. Apparently this whole solstice thing is messing with Natasha’s equilibrium – her balance.”

A grimace flickered across Natasha’s face before she could stifle it. “I’m usually not this… emotional.”

Iris tilted her head, looking between Phil and Natasha, before speaking. “And you’re certain it’s the solstice that’s causing that?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered. She understood immediately what Iris was asking – though she was deeply grateful for the tact with which she asked it. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Phil and Clint’s eyebrows shot up in perfect unison at her ‘unfortunately’ but she was still facing the twins and didn’t see it. Sarah did, and looked at her brother questioningly. He shook his head minutely. 

Clint wished fervently and whole-heartedly that he could talk to Phil telepathically, and that Natasha wouldn’t notice his weird mix of shock, pleasure, and apprehension. When had she changed from a ‘maybe sometime’ to an ‘I wish this was true’ regarding the possibility?

Natasha shot him a look. {I can hear you thinking, dearling,} she informed him tartly.

{Damn.}

{We can talk about it later.}

{Yes ma’am.}

“I hope you forgive me,” Natasha said to Rose.

The girl rolled her eyes in a move so like Sarah that Phil had to stifle a chuckle. “Nothing to forgive, Auntie Nat. I didn’t understand. Now I do.” She reached out and patted Natasha’s hair. “It’s okay. We’ll teach you to play, and then if something comes up where you don’t know if it’s supposed to be for real or for fun, you can ask us.”

Natasha’s smile was wide and a little shaky. “Thanks, Rose. And you too, Lily.” She squeezed both girls’ hands and stood up. “I think we should follow Mother’s – the Goddess’s – instructions,” she told her husbands.

“As you wish.” Phil took her hand and pulled her close. Clint stepped in closer as well, though he didn’t purposely crowd them – he just couldn’t keep from drawing nearer to them.

“Goodnight,” Natasha said, to both twins and their mothers.

“Goodnight, Natasha,” Sarah murmured.

The triad left the kitchen and headed upstairs, grateful to close the door of the Blue Room behind them.

~ * ~

Clint really wanted to throw himself on the bed and cry “No more emoting! I can’t take anymore!” but knew he wouldn’t actually prevent Natasha from speaking if she actually did want to talk about her choice of words.

“You’re reading too much into it, dearling,” she told him. She sat down on the edge of the bed to begin undressing. “I didn’t mean it exactly the way you think I did.”

“Alright,” Phil agreed. “How did you mean it?”

She was silent for a moment, reaching for her brush to unnecessarily smooth her hair. “Mostly I meant that it’s unfortunate that the solstice is making me emotional.”

“Mostly?” Clint repeated.

She rolled her eyes. “Alright. Not entirely. It’s just… seeing you around all these kids, Phil… it’s just… you deserve that.”

“Love, I have that,” he told her, taking the brush from her when her strokes became a little too agitated to be comfortable. “I have fourteen small people who call me Uncle Phil – I have plenty of that.”

“It’s not the same.” Natasha glared at him for taking the brush, but didn’t reach for it again. 

Clint, undressed now to his boxers, slid in between the sheets. “I don’t really think guilt is a good reason to get pregnant, Sunshine.”

Natasha’s shoulders slumped. “I know.”

“I don’t need a baby to love you, Natasha Romanoff,” Phil told her in a low voice. He too was down to his regular sleeping wear – in his case, boxers and t-shirt – and slid into bed as well. “If it’s something we all want, that’s one thing – but until you want to be a mother…” he shook his head. “Clint’s right. Guilt is a bad reason.”

She shed the last of her clothes save her underwear and slipped on Clint’s discarded t-shirt, as had become their habit. She joined them in bed, Phil in the middle, and tucked her head into his shoulder. “What if I never want it?” she asked.

Clint could feel her fear of rejection, and reached across Phil’s chest to stroke her hair. “Then we spoil our nieces and nephews instead,” he told her. “Maybe in ten years, or if one of us leaves SHIELD and could be at home, it’ll be different. That’s okay. We’ve got time.”

Natasha sighed. “Treorai?”

“Yes, love?”

“Thank you for bringing me to meet your family.”

Phil smiled and kissed the top of her head. “I’m delighted to share them with you.”

They let silence fall between them, though it wasn’t awkward. Clint had discovered in the past several months that he liked the silence, when it was between the three of them. He didn’t care for it otherwise and diligently filled quiet moments with chatter… but tucked in bed with his loves, it was good. There was a comfort to it that he didn’t expect. Even when they were all reading different books, or working on reports, there was a kind of pleasant murmur of comfort in his mind, when they were together.

“Hopeless romantic,” Natasha teased, but her words were loving.

“For you and Phil, yeah,” Clint admitted, smiling crookedly at her. “Just don’t let it get out.” He admired the ring on his hand where it lay on Phil’s chest. “To be honest, I’m starting to care less and less about it getting out.”

“Me, too,” Phil admitted. “I don’t know that I want to make an announcement, but the idea of Fury asking me point blank doesn’t fill me with dread anymore.”

“It does me,” Natasha murmured, her voice already sounding drowsy. “I’m not ready for him to question me about my sex life.”

Clint snorted. “He wouldn’t. Not yours. Phil, maybe. Me, absolutely not – he’d never believe the truth, after hearing all the scuttlebutt.”

“Yes, our husband the serial dater,” Phil chuckled. “Goddess, but I love saying that,” he added, tightening his arms around them. “My husband,” and he kissed Clint, “and my wife.” He kissed Natasha too.

“I like hearing it,” Natasha admitted.

“So do I.” Clint nestled closer to Phil, letting his own eyelids droop. It was early yet, but all three were content to rest, tucked in together, and allow their souls to rest, as the Goddess commanded.

~ * ~


	16. Chapter 16

Clint’s eyes were the first open Tuesday morning, to his shock. Natasha and Phil were still breathing evenly, their faces relaxed in sleep. He couldn’t figure out why he was the first awake – he was never the first awake.

\\\Blessed Yule, Boghdoir Barton,// he heard the Goddess say in his mind.

Okay, that was new too.

He felt her amusement, the tickle across his ribs almost palpable. \\\I told you that you may feel different today. You are very receptive. If normally you were a candle to me, today you are a bonfire.//

{Is that a good thing?}

\\\It is not a bad thing,// Gaia answered vaguely. \\\How did M’inion Nat sleep?//

{Better, I think. She looks better, anyway. Maybe that’s just because she’s still asleep.}

\\\I hope that it is not. I do not wish her to be in distress.//

{Me neither.} Clint watched his spouses for a moment, absorbing their quietude. {She’s really in knots about children, and I don’t know how to help.}

The touch of the Goddess’s mind changed slightly, becoming more tender. \\\It was not my intention to make her uncomfortable. I wished only to reassure her that she was fit to be a mother, not that I expect it of her.//

{Yeah, well. One thing you gotta keep in mind about Nat… she rarely reacts predictably.}

\\\As I am learning,// the Goddess replied, her tone dry. \\\You are an education, the pair of you.//

He couldn’t stifle his grin. {Yeah? Phil says something like that, usually when he’s having to pull strings to get some other agent to drop a complaint against us.}

\\\For what would a fellow Agent have to complain against you, boghdoir?//

{Anything they can think of.} He wanted to growl but didn’t, fearing waking his bedmates. {I don’t know if it’s jealousy or something else, but there’s always an agent or two that want to pin something on us. Usually it’s nonsense. Sometimes it’s… not.}

\\\When is it not?//

{Well, we’re definitely breaking anti-fraternization rules,} Clint replied dryly. {I don’t know if any of those complaints have actually been filed – if they have, Phil has kept them quiet. We’ve been accused before, though. And some of the agents think we’re cheating on the courses – obstacle courses, agility, the shooting range – because they don’t understand how we could be that good. Can’t exactly tell them it’s because of your favor, Mama, so they think it’s performance enhancing chemicals.} That grated at him. He didn’t mind their doubts about him – he was a high school drop-out former carnie. The indictments against Natasha stung, though.

\\\You are as worthy as m’inion,// the Goddess told him firmly.

{To you,} he agreed. {To Phil. Not to everyone. And that’s okay. I don’t need them to think I’m a hero or a badass.} He winced. {Sorry.}

\\\For what? Your language does not offend me.//

{Right.} He shook his head. {Can I ask a question?}

\\\Always, my archer.//

{Did I do the right thing? With the rings, and calling him our husband?}

He felt another tickle of her laughter. \\\You did very well. You were right, when you told M’inion Nat that he needed this. So did she, though she would never admit it – and I think you did, too. It is good for all of you to know that this bond is not something you are taking lightly.//

{Will people ask about the rings?}

\\\Precious few will notice them. I cannot promise no one will see them, but… it is a small thing, for me to encourage the rings to be forgettable.//

{Huh.} He looked down at his ring. {Thanks, Mama.}

\\\Of course, boghdoir. I am pleased to assist.// He felt a different sensation – almost like a hand on his face. \\\I will leave you now, as I wish not to exhaust your mind. Rest, Boghdoir Barton.//

{Yes, Mama.} He felt the slight pulling away that was her disconnect, and settled more comfortably against Phil, watching his spouses sleep.

~ * ~

“Do you want to go down for breakfast?” Phil asked quietly sometime later. Natasha shook her head against his shoulder. 

“Hey, how come she gets to choose? You’re usually dragging me out of bed,” Clint protested, with absolutely no force behind his complaint.

“She’s the one balancing on an emotional tightrope, pretty bird. She gets to choose.”

Clint grumbled at the nickname. “We’re going to get awfully hungry by dinner,” he warned.

“I expect Mom will bring up a tray,” Phil answered with a smile. “Sarah and Iris will have filled her in.”

“I feel so stupid,” Natasha murmured, her face pressed against Phil so that her words were nearly indecipherable.

“You aren’t,” Phil assured her. He ran his hand down her hair and to the small of her back. “You’re a lot of things, love, but stupid has never been one of them.”

“How come she gets to be ‘love’ and I’m ‘pretty bird?’” Clint complained. Natasha snickered in response, but Phil took his question seriously.

“If I don’t tell you that you’re pretty, who will?” Phil asked in return, his tone deliberately light. “If you hear it often enough, maybe you’ll start to believe me.”

Clint swallowed against a suddenly tight throat. Natasha’s amusement faded. “I’m nothing special, Phil.” Clint’s voice was low, almost resigned.

“Your arms were voted Most Desirable Single Body Part,” Natasha reminded him. “Three years running. And that includes up against my assets.”

“I’m also the only agent who bares his arms regularly,” Clint retorted. “Because sleeves interfere with the draw on my bow. I don’t think that counts.”

“Which is why I’ll continue to call you ‘pretty bird.’ You need the reminder,” Phil said, his voice less playful. “Just as Natasha needs to be reminded that we love her,” he added quietly.

Clint wanted to glare at him, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Damn his perceptive, sensitive self.

{You don’t mean that, dearling.} Natasha brushed a hand across his face.

He sighed, though kept it internal so as not to disturb Phil. {No, I don’t.}

“It’s not polite to talk about me behind my back,” he said in what was probably intended to sound like his Agent Coulson voice, but was somewhat softened by the affectionate squeeze he gave them both.

“You’re not supposed to be able to tell when we do that, treorai,” Clint grumbled.

“It’s not difficult,” Phil told him, and this time there was humor in his voice. “For me, at least. I doubt anyone else would notice.”

“I should hope not.” Natasha rubbed her nose against the fabric of Phil’s t-shirt. “If anyone else reads us like you do, we’re in trouble.” He laughed softly.

All of them heard the approach of cautious footsteps, followed by the sound of something being put on the floor outside their door. The footsteps retreated. “Told you,” Phil chuckled. “Mom’s superpower is feeding people.”

“It’s a damned good one,” Clint agreed. He made no move to sit up, though. Ordinarily breakfast would be a priority, but he was comfortable pressed up against Phil, one hand curled in Natasha’s. He caught sight of his wedding ring and realized he should probably share the Goddess’s small intercession on their behalf. “Oh, I talked to Big Mama this morning—”

“When?” Natasha interrupted.

“Before you two woke up. Apparently I’m extra receptive on the solstice – she could reach me here in bed.” Phil made a thoughtful noise, but didn’t interrupt him again. “She said that She was going to make our rings kind of… hard to notice. Not invisible, but easy to overlook. Sounds like something out of Harry Potter, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Phil nodded, thinking. “Some kind of minor aversion. Interesting.”

“Did She say why?” Natasha asked, stroking his ring with one finger.

“Just that She was pleased to assist.” Clint shrugged. “I think it’s Her way of blessing the marriage.”

“Hearing Her speak to me was all the blessing I needed,” Phil told them. There was awe and reverence in his tone, though his face remained calm. “I didn’t expect it. I understand better now your devotion to Her.”

It was Clint’s turn to rub his face into Phil’s shoulder. “She makes me feel worthy,” he admitted softly. “And…”

“Cherished,” Natasha finished for him, when he stalled. “I don’t remember my birth mother, but I would guess that she was the last person to love me as unconditionally as Gaia.”

“What about us, Sunshine?” Clint’s fingers reached for hers. “Surely you can’t doubt us?”

“No,” she reassured him immediately. “It’s not the same. It’s…”

Phil tightened his arms around them. “It’s having someone who loves you, who wants everything for you, who asks very little in return, and who you know will always love you, no matter what you do.” He kissed each of their heads in turn. “It’s having a mother, my loves. I thought to offer you mine, but it seems she’s superfluous.”

“I’ll take Diane, too,” Clint replied immediately. “Big Mama doesn’t make French toast.”

~ * ~


	17. Chapter 17

Eventually, Clint rolled out of bed and cautiously opened the door. On the floor was a very well stocked breakfast tray, which he carried to the bed carefully. “Your mother seems to know a great deal about feeding the emotionally exhausted.” The food, while all chosen to be delicious at room temperature, was obviously selected with care – a variety of fruits, pastries, and savory breakfast burritos.

“She raised four kids,” Phil reminded him with a smile. “Three of them girls… and they run a bed-and-breakfast. I’m fairly certain there isn’t a circumstance in which she doesn’t have a mental meal planned for.”

Natasha twisted open one of two thermoses on the tray, and sniffed. “Coffee.” She handed it to Clint and opened the other. “Tea.” She poured herself and Phil tea while Clint drank straight from the thermos. “Barbarian.”

“Yep,” he agreed easily. He sat cross-legged on the bed beside Phil, not bothering to put on more clothes or get back under the covers.

Phil took the mug of tea from Natasha with a smile, and ran his hand up her arm to touch her cheek. “How are you doing, love?”

“Better, I think,” she said, reluctant to analyze herself this morning. “Not back to normal, but… better.”

“Anything I can do?” Clint asked. He’d meant the comment to be telepathic, but it appeared his mouth wasn’t going to agree to that plan.

She smiled crookedly at him. “Not that I can think of. Unless you know of a way to fast-forward the day to dinner time, so I can hug Catriona.”

“Would if I could, Sunshine.” Clint reached out to caress her cheek as well. She leaned into his hand with a pleased sound.

“There are… options…” Phil began, his smile turning slightly wicked. “Certainly, there are activities which make time appear to go faster.”

Natasha’s eyebrows shot up. “Really, Agent Coulson? In your parents’ house?”

“Did you think I was going to keep my hands to myself the whole visit?” he asked, neatly sectioning an orange and offering her a slice.

{Is there a polite way to say yes?} Natasha asked Clint silently.

“It’s just a little unexpected,” Clint answered for her. “You’re… not usually one to initiate things, outside our bedroom.”

“We’re in our bedroom,” Phil pointed out. “In our bed.”

Natasha’s hunger began to morph into a different craving. She and Clint had expected Phil to be physically reticent, here in his family home. It was still difficult for him to be affectionate with them in the presence of anyone else, though this visit seemed to be eroding those barriers. Abruptly she wanted nothing more of breakfast, and instead was eyeing Phil with undisguised desire. Setting her mug on the nightstand, she leaned over and kissed him, thoroughly.

“I’m an old man, love,” Phil laughed, steadying her as she wobbled across the distance. “Let me finish my breakfast, or I’m liable to lose strength halfway through.”

“You’re not old,” Natasha told him, but redirected herself from his mouth to his neck.

Clint, pastry halfway to his mouth, was apparently too distracted to continue eating himself. “I never get tired of watching that,” he said with a contented sigh. Natasha raised an eyebrow and crooked her finger at him. “Oh, all right,” he said with mock irritation, and crawled closer to join her, taking Phil’s other side.

Phil might have continued to protest – but Natasha stripped off her shirt as Clint carefully moved the breakfast tray to the floor, and he was sufficiently distracted as to forget such trivial things as breakfast.

~ * ~

“I wonder if this’s what the Goddess had in mind,” Natasha asked later, drawing circles on Phil’s chest in the light sheen of sweat that now beaded there.

“If it is, remind me to thank Her,” Clint said, his face pressed into the pillow. He had one arm around Natasha’s waist, their acrobatics having put her in the middle for now. “That was…”

“Agreed.” Phil was still catching his breath. “If that’s what solstice does to you, love, I’ll happily tolerate any emotional outbursts.”

Natasha’s laugh was utterly relaxed. “Yes, it does make up for being a little weepy yesterday.”

Clint managed a laugh in response. “Goddess, I wonder if I’ll be like that on Midsummer?”

Phil groaned. “I’m not sure I can take it.”

Natasha elbowed him lightly in the side. “Sure you can, treorai. Just lie back and think of SHIELD.” He snorted. “You’re not that old, loverling.”

{Now you give him a nickname?} Clint asked her incredulously.

{He earned one, after that.}

“Natasha, I’m forty-six,” he reminded her gently. “I’m not a young buck, and I don’t have Gaia’s gifts to lean on.”

Natasha lifted her head to glare at him. “I don’t care. You’re not old until I say you are,” she insisted, and he lifted one hand to ward her off.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m just… well.” He ran a hand down her body, leaned over and touched Clint. “I’m being realistic. You’re twenty-six.”

“I’m not,” she said, very quietly.

Phil’s hand stilled. “What do you mean?”

Natasha sighed. “I wasn’t born in 1984. I was born in 1928.”

Clint let out a low whistle. “Damn, Phil. We landed ourselves a cougar.”

“How in Hell can you be in your eighties?!” Phil asked – quietly, but with some force behind it.

“Red Room Serum,” she explained tightly. “Some bastardization of Erskine’s original formula. I don’t talk about it, and I buried it. Deep. If Fury knows, he’s never mentioned it. Officially, Natasha Romanoff is twenty-six.” Her relaxation was gone, replaced by tension that both her husbands could feel – a body prepared for a fight.

“Easy, love,” Phil said immediately, and pulled her close to him. On her other side, Clint tightened his hold on her until they were both pressed lengthwise against her, as much bodily contact as they could manage. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You… surprised me.”

Clint kissed the back of her neck gently. “I don’t care if you were born thirty years ago or three hundred. You’re ours now, Sunshine, and I’ll take you as you are.”

Phil nodded his agreement, stroking Natasha’s hair. “Thank you for telling us,” he told her softly. “I can imagine not many people know.”

“I haven’t even told Catriona – although she probably knows. She knew about the Red Room.” Natasha buried her face in Phil’s neck. “So stop calling yourself old, please. It makes me feel ancient.”

“All right,” Phil agreed. He tucked her head in closer, cradling her against him. “Did you realize you’re only ten years younger than Captain Rogers would be?”

Natasha snorted, which was an odd sensation with her face pressed against him. “I can’t say it had ever occurred to me, no. I swear, you know more about Captain America than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“He’s not just Captain America to you, is he?” Clint asked, when he caught sight of Phil’s face.

“No.” Phil was quiet for a moment, remembering. “He was at first. I devoured the comics as a kid, collected trading cards and all of that. He was just… a hero to look up to, I guess, at first.”

“What changed?” Natasha asked softly.

He smiled. “I met Director Carter. She speaks very highly of him. When she realized her tales never bored me, she shared quite a few of them. We used to have a drink now and again, and she’d go through photo albums and reminisce, and I’d listen.” Phil shook his head, eyes distant. “It meant a lot to me, to have something in common with such a great man.” At his spouse’s inquiring looks, he elaborated. “His bisexuality.”

“His what?” Clint repeated incredulously.

“Didn’t you know?” Phil looked startled. “I thought it was common knowledge.”

“No.”

“Well… he loved Peggy, that’s for sure – but his heart belonged to his Sergeant, too.”

“Sergeant Barnes?” He couldn’t keep the doubt from his voice, but never in all his years had Clint heard anything like that about Captain America.

Phil’s eyes returned to Clint, face serious. “Yes. They’d been… together… since they were young. Peggy said only the love of a lifetime could have caused Steve to volunteer for that experiment, to follow Barnes into war… to parachute into enemy territory to rescue him.”

Natasha had to admit, that explanation made a lot of sense. More than the notion that mere patriotic zeal had driven him to it. She’d never really been able to swallow that. “I can see why that would matter,” she said finally. “Knowing you weren’t the only one having to… be discreet.”

“It does,” Phil agreed.

A memory nagged at Clint, and he pushed it around until he could draw it fully out. “That’s where you get those old-timey sayings, isn’t it? Soldiering on, and ‘til the end of the line.’ They’re something tied to Captain Rogers.”

Phil flushed. “They are.” He’d have preferred Clint not notice that, but he should have known better than to expect it to slip their notice. “Peggy told me that ‘til the end of the line’ was the way they expressed their love verbally. Couldn’t say the words, you know – if you think I’m paranoid about being seen, that’s nothing compared to how it would have been for the Captain and the Sergeant.”

{I wonder if that’s part of why he’s so skittish,} Natasha mused. {Hearing tales of what could have happened to his hero, if he’d been caught. Dearling, don’t tease – I know you want to, but this is something very important to him… he’s all tense again.}

Clint stretched a hand across Natasha to reach Phil, stroking gently down his husband’s arm. “I think it’s flattering, that you’d say to us words Captain Rogers used.” In an aside to Natasha, he said {I am capable of tact now and again. Just don’t get used to it.}

Phil relaxed again, smiling at Clint. “It slips out when I’m distracted.”

“I like distracting you,” Natasha murmured, her idle stroking becoming more purposeful.

He turned incredulous eyes to her. “Really, love? The spirit is willing but the body—”

“Will do just exactly as I say,” Natasha purred, and Phil gave off trying to convince her otherwise.

~ * ~


	18. Chapter 18

They hadn’t been finished long when Phil escaped to the shower. “If I lie here in bed any longer, you might get ideas,” he told Natasha, kissing her deeply. “And you’ll just encourage her,” he told Clint, repeating the kiss.

“Mmmhmm,” Natasha agreed lazily, and watched him stride to the bathroom, buck naked. “I’m getting ideas anyway.”

{He’s feeling his years right now, Sunshine,} Clint warned. {Don’t push.}

She lifted an eyebrow at him. {Me? Push?}

Clint groaned, flopping over onto the bed next to her. {You’ve really got it bad, don’t you?}

{I’m about to come out of my skin, Clint,} she retorted, and this time there wasn’t much humor in her tone.

{I’m starting to understand the downside to the solstice thing.} Clint dragged himself off the bed and stuck his head in the bathroom. “Treorai, it going to bother you if I ravish our wife?”

Phil stuck his head around the curtain, eyebrows up. “Again?”

“Apparently there’s a downside.”

“Huh.” Phil contemplated that a moment. “Have at it.” He crooked a finger at Clint, though, and stole a quick, sweet kiss. “Take care of her for me, pretty bird.”

“My pleasure,” Clint answered with a smile, and disappeared back into the bedroom.

Phil returned to his shower – he didn’t often bother to take long ones, at home, but it was nice to relax under the warm water. He shampooed his hair – what was left of it, he thought wryly – and scrubbed the rest of himself perfunctorily. He had no idea the etiquette involved here. Should he occupy himself in the bathroom until they were finished?

That idea seemed unpleasant, given that he knew the Inn’s water heater wasn’t likely to hold up as long as it was likely to take his spouses to be done. He could kill some time shaving, but…

It was stupid to think they needed space, he decided finally.

He sluiced himself off one final time and briskly dried off, dressing in the clothes he’d brought in with him – jeans and a t-shirt, rather than one of his suits. It still felt odd, not climbing into his tailored suits. He opened the door between bedroom and bathroom, and leaned against the door frame, enjoying the sight.

When Natasha caught sight of him, she gestured imperiously with her free hand. He approached, somewhat reluctantly, knowing himself too spent to join in the lovemaking. “Love, I don’t know that I can—”

She snaked her hand into his, squeezing his fingers tightly. “Just need you,” she gasped as Clint continued his ministrations.

Phil sank down onto the bed next to them, fully clothed, and let his hands wander over both bodies – not to be sexual, but to be intimate. Clint leaned into his touches just as Natasha did, wanting him to play a part in their pleasure, even if it was a step removed.

None of the paid much attention to the passage of time and didn’t know how long it was before Natasha let out a cry and slumped bonelessly against the mattress. Clint gave her a satisfied but weary grin. “All right now, Sunshine?” he asked, running a hand down her arm, covering her hand where it joined with Phil’s.

“Yes,” she said, voice content. She squeezed Phil’s hand, felt Clint do the same. “Better with you here, loverling,” she told him. “Great without… better with.”

Clint chuckled. “I’d be offended, except she’s right.” He buried his head in her hair for a moment, kissing softly. “I thank Gaia for you every day, Sunshine, treorai. I love you both.”

“I love you both,” Natasha murmured in reply.

“I love you both,” Phil said as well, leaning over to kiss Natasha gently. Clint turned his head to receive one as well. “It’s nearly one o’clock,” he told them with a smile. “I’d say we succeeded in passing time.”

Clint grunted and levered himself up off of the bed, stretching, unbothered by his nudity. “Shower for me as well,” he said. “You coming, Sunshine?”

“Not yet,” she told him, her eyes half closed. “I’m basking.” He laughed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Phil leaned over and kissed her again, a slow but thorough kiss. She made a pleased humming noise against his lips. “If all I get for Christmas is the look in your eyes, I’ll be the richest man on Earth,” he breathed in her ear.

It might have been saccharine, in another time or place. It was definitely sappy, but Natasha’s lips curved up in a smile. “Now who’s being a hopeless romantic?” she teased lightly, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek. “A year ago today, I accepted Gaia’s invitation to serve Her, not realizing that what I was accepting was a chance at the first true happiness I ever remember having.” She paused, her eyes dancing with laughter. “Clint says we’re not allowed to tease him for being romantic any longer.”

“If we stopped teasing him, he’d worry we’d been replaced by life-model decoys,” Phil murmured, a laugh of his own bubbling up.

Clint was quick in the shower – field agent habits were hard to break – and dressed in jeans and a sleeveless tank. Natasha finally dragged her sated body into the shower as well. Phil watched them both with a half-smile.

“Like what you see?” Clint asked, leaning over for a kiss.

“Always,” Phil answered honestly. “Unless there’s bullet holes.”

“I’m not a huge fan of those myself.” Clint sat down next to Phil on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots. “What do you want to do this afternoon?”

“Anything that will keep Natasha from jumping either of us again,” Phil answered immediately, then chuckled. “Never thought I’d say something like that.”

Clint’s grin was understanding. “Let’s just hope we aren’t stuck out in the field somewhere next year. I couldn’t fight off a batch of recruits right now.”

Phil laughed. He tucked his arm around Clint’s waist, enjoying the casual intimacy as much as he had their amorous activities. “I think you’d find the motivation. One word out of them about why you were tired, and they’d find themselves riddled with arrows.”

Clint didn’t deny the truth of that statement, but he didn’t want to think about it either. He rested against Phil instead, breathing in his clean scent and making himself ignore thoughts of SHIELD and work and their cobbled together life there.

“What’s the matter, pretty bird?” Phil asked softly. Clint shot him a look. “No, I’m not reading your mind – you’ve got a tell.”

“I’m just trying not to think about DC,” he admitted.

“Not home?” Phil asked gently.

“It isn’t home.” Clint’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Not like the farm is, or even here. Home is… where I don’t have to be anybody else, I guess.” He pressed his head into Phil’s shoulder. “Someday, I’d like to have that all the time. Not now,” he added hastily. “But someday.”

“I’d like that.” Phil held him closer, pressing soft kisses wherever he could reach.

Clint pulled away with a smile and stood up. “Natasha informs me that if we’re kissing when she walks out, all bets are off.” Phil chuckled but desisted.

Natasha exited the bathroom, hair still wrapped in a towel, but wearing jeans and a faded SHIELD t-shirt. “Thank you,” she said, smiling crookedly at them both. She flipped her hair upside down, rubbing it briskly with the towel. Clint took the towel from her as Phil retrieved her hairbrush and set to work on it. She’d let it grow longer, and it regularly frustrated her to try and tame unruly hair – but her husbands seemed to adore it. Phil was better at it – she chalked that up to the number of female relatives in his life – whereas Clint tended to view it as foreplay.

Tresses tamed, Phil was unable to resist dropping a kiss on the back of neck. “Don’t get her started again,” Clint warned, his tone laced with humor. “Even my hands are tired, Sunshine.”

She laughed, turning to kiss Phil properly on the lips. “I promise I’ll behave.” She extended a hand to Clint which he took, letting himself be drawn closer to them. “I think I’ll see if the twins want to play a game this afternoon. Do you want to join me?”

Clint shook his head. “I think this is something you’ve got to do without us. I’m going to try and find an appropriate practice target and get some shooting in. I go this long without drawing my bow, and I get itchy.” At her alarmed look, he shook his head. “Not that kind of itchy.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “What kind of itchy?”

{Right. I’d forgotten that one was about him, but not actually in his presence,} Clint sighed mentally to Natasha. “It’s Big Mama’s way of telling us she needs us somewhere,” he explained. “I get itchy – where my weapon is supposed to go, apparently – and Nat starts to hear whispering. It’s how we knew you needed us, back in June.”

“It hasn’t happened since then?” Phil was surprised. He’d have thought that the Chosen Warriors of Gaia were in more demand than that.

“No,” Natasha answered. “Catriona says we are ‘early in our learning,’ which I think makes us rookies. We aren’t the only Warriors bound to Her – just the only bonded pair. I get the feeling She’s saving us for something.”

“I’m just glad we haven’t had a Goddess mission that conflicts with a SHIELD mission, because I know which one I’m responding to,” Clint said firmly. “I’d sure as Hell rather be disciplined for insubordination than disobey Big Mama.”

“I hope it never comes to that.” Phil shook his head.

~ * ~


	19. Chapter 19

It was closer to two before the triad left the bedroom. Natasha peeled off to find Lily and Rose, hoping for a lesson in fun. Clint followed Phil down to the kitchen, hoping to find either Alex or Diane and inquire as to a good practice location.

Diane was at the counter, rolling pie dough on a pastry cloth with a marble rolling pin. Phil’s mouth watered. “Pie tonight?” he asked, as casually as he could manage.

She shot her son an amused glance. “It seemed appropriate, with your friend joining us. According to my rather scanty research, apples seem to a feature of the Yule sabbat, so I figured apple pie would be welcome.”

“Apple pie is always welcome.” Clint grinned.

“Need any help?” Phil asked. “I’ve got the rest of the afternoon free.”

“I was hoping you’d point me in the direction of a snowbank or hay bale I could shoot a couple hundred arrows into,” Clint added. “Natasha’s somewhere trying to learn how to play with the twins.”

Diane directed Clint to the haybales they kept for summer seating – some guests liked the rustic touch. He departed the kitchen happily, retrieving his bow and whistling jauntily as he stepped outside – bare armed and barefoot. She shook her head at Phil. “Your loves are unusual people,” she said with a smile. “Do they even feel the cold?”

“I don’t think so.” Seeing she had the pie under control, he began cleaning behind her. “I’d think it was part of the Goddess’s gifts, but Clint’s never been a fan of sleeves, so I can’t attribute it all to Her.”

“With biceps like those, I’m rather partial to them uncovered myself,” Diane admitted. Phil chuckled. “He’s easier on the eyes than Ken was.” Her eyes flickered to his, but he didn’t immediately shut down as he had in the past. “And Natasha is… a surprise.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Mom, I dated girls before Ken. You don’t have to sound so scandalized.” He stacked the clean utensils neatly in the dish drainer, movements precise but unhurried.

“She’s… young. Is she even as old as Sarah?”

Oh. Oddly, the fact that she appeared younger than his baby sister hadn’t factored into the reasons his mother might be concerned. “She’s older,” Phil said carefully, not sure how much to say. “It’s complicated, and not mine to tell. But she isn’t as young as she appears.”

Diane frowned. “More of this Gaia stuff?”

“Ah… no.” Now he wished he could lie to his mother, because that would have been a perfectly acceptable, albeit wrong, explanation.

“Classified?” Not for nothing had Diane been the wife of a SHIELD agent – and the mother of one. She thought she understood his hesitation.

“No, not exactly – it’s just – Natasha doesn’t talk about it, and it’s not – I gave her my word.”

Her eyebrows raised, she turned to face her son, rolling pin still in hand. “You mean there is a force in this world that can keep you from spilling your guts to me in the kitchen?”

“Apparently,” Phil said dryly.

“Alright.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek before returning to her pastry. “I won’t pester you about it – and I won’t ask her, either. I am impressed though, son. You’ve never held out this long.”

Phil wished he could argue about that. If he’d been home at all in the last six months, she’d have known about their triad within ten minutes of him setting foot in the kitchen – it was her most effective interrogation technique. “I’ve never had reason to resist,” he said finally. Years of military service and of being a SHIELD agent notwithstanding, he’d never had any loyalty stronger than what he felt for Clint and Natasha.

Diana hummed in response. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” He finished cleaning what he could – he could hardly clean what she was still using – and wiped his hands on a towel before stowing it back on the handle of the fridge. “I’m glad that we could come for Christmas. It… isn’t easy, for us to get private time in DC.” Not his home either, he realized. Not his SHIELD quarters, and not the endless cycle of safehouses they spent their nights together in.

“You’re always welcome, honey. All of you, or any of you.” She neatly lined the pie plate with dough and spooned the apple mixture into it, returning to her rolling pin for the top crust. “They were a surprise, but a welcome one.”

“That means a lot.” Phil had to swallow hard – that invitation had never been extended to his past love. 

Her answering smile was soft. “They’re good people, and the children love them.”

Phil chuckled. That was something his achroi ghra had that Ken lacked – both Clint and Natasha loved children, and Ken had kept them firmly at arm’s length. No wonder his mother preferred his achroi ghra! “I hope, someday, that we’ll have our own,” he admitted quietly. “I won’t pressure Natasha – it’s her choice, ultimately – but…” he trailed off, his eyes distant.

“If it’s meant to be, love, it will be,” his mother comforted him. She neatly added the top crust of the pie and crimped the edges. “There now, would you see if the oven is hot?”

It was, and Phil took the pie from her and slid it into the oven. She set the timer and smiled. “It’ll be cool by the time we’re finished with dinner – you know how your father feels about hot pie.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Barbarian. It’s best right out of the oven, smothered in ice cream,” he insisted. Diane laughed.

“I agree with you, but it’s your father I’ve got to sleep with at night, so I’ll just defer to his preferences there.” She patted Phil’s cheek gently. “Run along, now, unless you’ve a hankering for more dish washing. I’m just going to finish up, and then see if I can get Lily’s Christmas present done.”

~ * ~

“I don’t understand,” Natasha repeated, looking between Lily and Rose. All three were in snow gear, and Lily had a snowball formed in her gloved hand. “How do you keep score? Who wins?”

“No score. No one wins,” Rose repeated patiently. “It’s just for fun.”

Right. Fun. Natasha scooped up a handful of snow and packed it into a tight ball, showing it to Lily for approval.

“Not so tight,” Lily advised. She handed Natasha her own snowball. “You want it tight enough to stick together when you throw it, but soft enough that it breaks apart when it hits someone. If you were to throw yours, it would hurt when it hit – and fun isn’t supposed to hurt.” Natasha tucked that away – no pain – and tried again. This time the snowball met their approval, and Lily gestured. “Try throwing it at the tree, and watch it splat.”

She did as ordered, carefully lobbing the ball into a nearby tree. It splatted satisfactorily, and she felt a burst of – enjoyment? – and discovered she was smiling. “So… a snowball fight is just us throwing them at each other?” she asked skeptically.

“Yup,” Rose answered cheerfully. “Don’t throw in the face – that hurts – unless you’ve packed it really light.”

“And this is fun,” Natasha repeated.

“I promise,” Lily reassured her. “I’m gonna go stake out my spot, and Rose is going to hers – you pick a spot, and make up some snowballs, and then when one of us hollers ‘Go!’ you can start throwing, okay?”

Natasha nodded and surveyed the area for a defensible location… then stopped herself. Fun. Not fight. She picked a spot behind a tree, and began to make her ammunition – her snowball stash.

There was a different flavor of anticipation than before a real fight, she realized. There was no dread, just adrenaline. She wasn’t worried about getting hurt, or about having to kill the enemy. Her nose was pleasantly cold, her gloves were covered in snow, but she knew that when they were done, there was a warm house to go into – and probably cocoa and cookies, too.

“Go!” one of the twins hollered, and Natasha peeked around the tree to spot the enemy – to spot either of the twins. She recoiled as a snowball was thrown unerringly at her, splattering into the tree above her and showering her with cold clumps.

A laugh bubbled up out of her as she took aim in the direction the snowball had come – purposely not taking the time to perfect her shot, just lobbing it in the girl’s direction. There was a squeal that told her she’d either hit the girl or gotten close, and Natasha scrambled for another snowball, peering around the other side of the tree to see if she could locate the other twin.

She should have expected the snowball that hit her in the chest – should have, but didn’t, and another laugh escaped her as she slung her cold projectile towards the second twin – Rose, based on the right hand she’d seen in the air. 

Soon they were coming fast, and Natasha had to duck to another tree when she ran out of easily packed snow. The girls were tossing snowballs at each other as well, so Natasha didn’t feel like she was under attack – more like she was being included in their… fun.

It hit her, abruptly, that she was having fun.

Actual fun.

Laugh-until-her-sides-hurt, smile-until-her-cheeks-ache, giggle-between-belly-laughs fun.

She was so stunned at the notion that two snowballs hit her in quick succession, and she just stood there.

“Auntie Nat? You okay?” Lily called, her head poking up from behind the bush she’d chosen for cover. Rose’s head bobbed up too, from her place near a snow-covered barbeque grill.

“I’m… having fun,” Natasha said slowly. She turned to face the girls, snowball forgotten in her hand. “I didn’t remember what it felt like.”

Rose and Lily traded looks. “Well, isn’t that kind of the point?” Rose asked. “I mean, your mother – your Goddess – wanted you to learn, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she did.” She wanted to burst into tears, but that would scare the girls and ruin the fun. So instead, she lifted the snowball and mimed throwing it, though she didn’t let go. “Sorry to interrupt the fun with thinking. Back to it?”

Lily dived back behind the bush, giggling madly, and Rose followed suit. Combat recommenced until eventually a cease-fire was called – by Diane, standing on the back porch with a tray of cocoa and Natasha’s imagined cookies. “Come on, girls – time to get warmed up.”

Natasha followed the twins up to the porch, obediently stomping and shaking the worst of the snow off of herself before taking a mug of cocoa from Diane with a shy smile and following the girls inside.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Diane asked lightly.

“I did,” Natasha answered, smiling at the twins. Rose looked proud, and Lily satisfied. “I really had fun.”

The twins beamed at her, and Natasha wondered if it was the fun she’d had or the love she saw in their eyes that made the cocoa taste particularly good.

~ * ~


	20. Chapter 20

Phil found her in the living room with the twins, curled up under an afghan on the couch. “I like purple,” Natasha was saying. “It’s Clint’s favorite color, and it makes him smile when I paint my toes that color.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Rose was asking as Phil stepped into the room.

“It’s black,” he told his niece. “Though I’m beginning to think that might change.”

“I’m partially to blue-grey, too, loverling,” she told him solemnly. “Maybe I’ll have to alternate. One week match Clint’s tastes, the next match your eyes?”

“You two are so gross,” Rose said with an exaggerated eye roll. Natasha laughed, obviously no longer bothered by the twitting of her nieces about the love she showed their uncle.

“Maybe we can talk Catriona into a pedicure party,” Natasha mused. “She’s got her feet bare all the time, maybe she would go for polish.”

“When will she be here?” Rose asked eagerly.

Phil check his watch. “Another hour or two. It’s coming up on five, but there’s no telling how long her duties will take after six. Maybe she’ll be able to come straight here – maybe not.”

“And she’ll be tired,” Clint reminded them again, entering from the other direction and depositing his bow case carefully on the floor. He sank onto the floor in front of Natasha, fingers around her ankle.

{You know something I don’t?} Natasha asked him silently.

Clint stroked a thumb down her heel. {It must be pretty significant, for Mama to bring it up. I just don’t want anyone to be surprised, if she’s dead on her feet.}

Phil sat down next to Clint, settling against the couch. Lily draped an affectionate around him, and he leaned back into her. “You three have fun out there? It sounded like we were being invaded by yetis.”

“We had fun,” Natasha confirmed, smiling. She let her other foot peek out from other the blanket to rest against Phil’s shoulder, just wanting the physical contact. “Your nieces are good teachers.”

“You’re a good student,” Rose deflected.

Natasha made a small noise of contentment as she cuddled into the twins, her achroi ghra close at hand. She felt… at peace.

Phil looked back over his shoulder, smiling softly as he watched her relax. Clint hummed his contentment as well, letting his eyes drift shut as he absorbed the warm emotions.

The five of them were still sitting there, silent but content, when Diane walked in to recruit kitchen helpers. “I’ve never seen the pair of you sit still this long,” she remarked to the twins.

“It’s comfy,” Rose answered, her voice a little drowsy. She tightened the arm she had wrapped around Natasha. “Auntie Nat’s a good snuggler.”

Clint tried to stifle his laugh, but it bubbled up anyway. “Never thought I’d hear that,” he wheezed around his chuckles.

“She is!” Lily protested, though without much heat.

“Thank you, alannas, but Clint is thinking about how unlikely any of our coworkers would find that.” She ruffled Lily’s hair – her hand was closer – and nestled deeper into the cushions. “Maybe it’s just the solstice, or maybe it’s the company, but I’m rather enjoying this.”

“As well you should,” Diane agreed with a smile. Rather than draft any of them, she left the room to locate Sarah or Iris. Surely they wouldn’t mind helping – in exchange for a copy of the picture Diane had surreptitiously captured from the doorway.

“Don’t you snuggle at home?” Rose asked.

Natasha shook her head. “Not really. With Clint and Phil, yes, when we’re alone – but I don’t have many friends, and none that I’d feel comfortable like this with – except Catriona.”

“She gives some of the best hugs,” Phil agreed.

~ * ~

At 5:38 PM, both Clint and Natasha felt – something. Clint sat up straighter, turning to face Natasha and reaching out both hands to her. She grabbed for them, squeezing tightly, as the universe stilled.

Her vision slid inward, until she was seeing a vast darkness, lit by eleven blazing beacons and two dozen smaller lights – torches, to the bonfires of the eleven. One of the beacons was brighter than the others, its light coruscating in a nearly blinding but stunningly beautiful pattern. With a shock, Natasha realized she was seeing the druids – seeing her fellow Warriors – and felt their presences as well. Those beacons were as anchors, a solidity in this immense emptiness that grounded her. The other, weaker lights around her she knew for kindred spirits – others Chosen by Gaia. She and the light she knew to be Clint were the only two intertwined, but there were others as bright as herself.

The images faded, and she found herself back on the couch in the Coulson home, her hands clasped tightly in Clint’s. “Are you alright?” Phil asked, his voice a touch sharp as he had been concerned over their lack of responsiveness.

“Fine,” Clint answered absently.

“Better than,” Natasha added. She released Clint’s hands and rubbed her face, wiping away the tears she hadn’t noticed. “Apparently, the Solstice has just passed in Ireland,” she told her husband.

Phil lifted an eyebrow. “And you know this because…”

“We were… there?” Clint said, unsure. “Somehow? I could see the others, their… souls? I guess?”

The twins exchanged a look just as eloquent as their mothers. Rose said carefully, “You do know you were sitting right here, right? I mean, it was in your head.”

“Yeah, it was,” Clint agreed. He settled back against the couch, returning to the position he’d been in before his psychic walk-about. “And it was awesome.”

Natasha made a noise of agreement, low in her throat, and cuddled both twins to her, pressing her feet against her husbands so that she was anchored as much as possible. “It’s hard to explain,” Natasha told the twins. “It was kind of like… a dream while we were awake.”

“Does that mean Catriona will be here soon?” Lily asked.

“It’s likely,” Phil told her, glancing at his watch again. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him to hear a knock at the door, but it did. “I’ll get it,” he called over his shoulder as he stepped into the hallway. Natasha and Clint were not far behind him, the twins lagging back far enough to be polite. He opened the front door.

Catriona stood there, wearing her white Druidic robe and no shoes, with heavy gold jewelry on her wrists and neck, and a circlet in her red hair. Her eyes were reddened too, and the hands that she reached out for Phil were shaking. “Treorai,” she said in greeting.

In response, he drew her into his arms and shut the door behind her. She was trembling all over, and he tucked her tightly against him, murmuring soothing nothings in her ear. Natasha and Clint stepped forward as well, bracketing her and hiding her from view of the twins. “Achara, you’re shaking,” Natasha murmured to the petite druid. “Mother said you’d be tired, but…”

“Tisn’t the ritual which exhausts me, I fear,” Catriona said quietly. “I have used more of my Gift in days past, without turning into this… ninny. Though perchance it wasn’t wise for me to plane-walk immediately following the ritual. No, tis the company of the other druids which distresses me so.” She buried her face in Natasha’s hair. “One would think that after all these centuries, the resentment would be worn thin, but alas…” she shook her head, still tucked against those she dared to call friend – perhaps even family.

“Resentment?” Phil prompted gently.

“That I am the High Priestess,” Catriona said with a sigh, letting herself be comforted. Clint was running his hands through her hair, something that made her feel cared for. “That I am as of yet unmated, whereas they have all experienced the loss of a beloved. This Yule there was even grumbling that I’d gotten the best of the Warriors,” she said with a tired smile. “And of course, there being those what think I’ve no business coming here, spending time with mere Warriors when I disdain the company of my peers. The Blue Bard was full of tales of how poorly that can end, if ye can believe it.”

“Your Irish is thick tonight,” Clint remarked, still running his fingers through her curls. “They must have really upset you.”

Catriona sighed, pulling away from them slightly, needlessly straightening her gown. She caught sight of one of the cuff bracelets on her wrist and scowled. “They did,” she said, and began divesting herself of the jewelry. “Have you a place where I can stow these, treorai? I mislike wearing the ornaments of my rank.”

Phil let her go reluctantly, but turned to the stairs. The twins had disappeared – probably to report to their mothers that Catriona had arrived – so Phil was able to lead her upstairs to the Green Room without incident. She immediately piled the jewelry on a side table, shaking her hair vigorously when the circlet was removed. Her hands were still shaking, but she ignored it.

“Are you hungry? Mom’s been cooking up a storm,” Phil told her. “And there’s apple pie for dessert.”

Catriona turned to him, smile fond. “I haven’t had pie in a great while. It was sweet of her to make the effort.”

“Apparently, that’s what the internet told her was appropriate for Yule,” Clint supplied. “No idea if it’s true, but apple pie is always appropriate in my book.”

“Thoughtfulness is apparently a Coulson trait,” Catriona said with a smile. She offered her hands to Natasha. “Come here, achara, and give me a proper hug.” Natasha did so, feeling a swell of affection for the druid. Some of her trembling had eased, Natasha noted – she seemed tired but no longer quite as heartsick. “Your turn, dhearthair.” Clint hugged her as well, kissing her forehead lightly. “Goddess, but I’m glad to see the three of you,” Catriona said when they’d parted again. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“You ready to meet the horde?” Phil asked, his hand on the doorknob.

Catriona smiled. “There are not nearly enough souls in this house to qualify as a horde, dear treorai, but I’d be delighted to meet your family.”

Phil crooked his elbow and offered it to her with a bow. It would have been ridiculous in most places – and with most people – but Catriona tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and beamed. He led her back down the stairs and into the dining room, where Diane was supervising the laying of the table.

“Catriona, this is my family… my mother, Diane – father, Alex – baby sister Sarah… yes, I know you’re not a baby anymore, but you’re still my baby sister – her wife Iris – their daughters Rosalie and Lilabeth. All, this is Catriona O’Clare.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you finally,” Diane said, offering her hands to Catriona in a gesture that reminded Natasha vaguely of the formal blessing Catriona had given Barney. “My son speaks very highly of you.”

Catriona curtseyed automatically, grasping both of Diane’s hands. “Tis a pleasure to be with you on this blessed Yule,” she answered with a smile. “It is an honor to meet the woman who raised such a compassionate man.”

Diane smiled and gestured to a seat. Natasha was on one side of her, with Phil on her other. Clint sat across from her, bracketed by the twins. As the food began to be passed around, Catriona let herself relax, listening to the friendly chatter of the family. She was quieter than normal – at the farm, she’d nearly always participated in the conversation – but the triad assumed that was a result of her mental and physical exhaustion.

“So, Catriona… what is it that you do for a living?” Alex asked during a lull in the conversation.

Catriona raised an eyebrow. “I am a Druid, good sir. I do not have an occupation, I have a vocation.”

“Does that mean you don’t have a job?” Lily asked curiously.

“I have a job, of sorts,” Catriona explained. “Part of my job is serving as a Priestess for my Goddess – part of it is in guiding Chosen Warriors such as Clint and Natasha. Another portion of it is in being Her primary healer and herbalist. The difference between an occupation and a vocation is rather simple,” she said with a smile. “An occupation is a job that you do, one which you have chosen to do and which you could walk away from. A vocation, though, is something which you must do – something which is crucial to who you are, and something you could not turn away from.”

“Like a doctor?” Rose asked.

“Very much like,” Catriona agreed. “Many healers – doctors – feel they have a vocation to serve those in need.”

“Rather like Mom’s need to feed people?” Sarah asked, arching a brow at her mother.

“Oh, hush,” Diane said with a chuckle. “I don’t hear you complaining when it’s your favorite pie on the menu.”

“Not complaining,” Sarah answered immediately, holding up her hands defensively.

Catriona smiled. “Your mother has skills that I would call being a Hearthkeeper – the person responsible for turning a house into a home, a gathering of individuals into a family. It is a rare gift, and an honor for me to be witness to it.” She raised her teacup – no one had been able to talk her into anything else to drink – and toasted Diane with an air of graceful serenity.

~ * ~


	21. Chapter 21

Diane was polite enough not to mention Catriona’s trembling hands, even as her tea sloshed over one edge of her cup. Phil caught her eye, and she understood that he would handle it. She stood, placing her napkin beside her plate. “Who’s ready for pie?”

“Me!” the twins chimed, and Phil was amused to hear Clint join the clamor. His mother and the twins disappeared into the kitchen to prepare dessert for serving.

He reached for Catriona’s hand, gently wiping spilled tea from it. “You’re not quite alright, are you, little one?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she admitted just as softly. “Your family helps – being with the three of you helps more.” Natasha reached for Catriona’s other hand, and she felt Clint tangle his feet with hers under the table.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Natasha asked. She was running her thumb over Catriona’s knuckles, something she’d picked up from Clint – and it seemed to soothe the druid as much as it did when he did it to her.

“There is nothing much to be said.” Catriona closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Yule is, at its root, a celebration of the rebirth of the sun – in many cultures, an actual birth is celebrated. It tends to bring thoughts of children to the fore, and my own thoughts are hardly joyful in that regard. Nor are those of my fellow druids – The Windmaster lost his wife this past year, and none of the rest have mates or bairns – children – at present. Linking my mind with theirs just compounds the discontent.”

“Linking your mind?” Clint asked. “I saw the lights – you, and the other druids, and the other Warriors – but I didn’t hear any other minds.”

Catriona blinked at him. “You saw it? Both of you?” At Natasha’s nod and hand-squeeze, Catriona shook her head. “There are Warriors bound decades before they feel the pull of sabbat rituals. You two continue to surprise me.”

“It was handy, them feeling it,” Phil told her. He slipped his arm around her waist, letting her relax into him. “We knew when to expect you. Although I expected longer than ten minutes.”

Catriona flushed. “I was eager to leave the Grove.”

Natasha shot Phil a glare to stop him from asking further questions, and settled for caressing Catriona’s fingers again. “We’re glad to have you here, deirfuir,” Natasha told her.

Diane returned with pie and ice cream, the twins carrying plates and forks. If she was surprised at her son’s physical affection for the druid, she did not remark upon it. Instead, she began passing down slices of pie with generous scoops of ice cream.

Catriona reclaimed her hands from Natasha and Phil to taste the dessert, and her eyes widened. She uttered a shocked exclamation in her own tongue, then followed it immediately in English. “Mistress Coulson, you are indeed a Hearthkeeper of the finest sort – I have not tasted such a Yule treat in many a century.”

Diane smiled broadly. “Thank you. But please, call me Diane. You’re practically family.”

The astonished smile that broke across Catriona’s face was nearly blinding, and Phil silently thanked all that was holy for his mother. “Thank you,” Catriona whispered, afraid to speak louder for fear of being unable to stifle her tears.

Rose and Lily exchanged glances around Clint. It seemed to them that Catriona was as wounded as Auntie Nat, but in a different way. Rose spoke first, as she usually did. “Can we call you Auntie Catriona?”

“Aye, if it pleases ye,” Catriona answered, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Clint’s nephew Cooper – he’s four and a half – calls me Auntie Ona, if you’d prefer that.”

“I like the whole thing,” Lily replied firmly. “It’s a very pretty name.”

“Thank you, Lily lass,” Catriona responded, smiling at the girl. “As is yours – both of yours.”

“You can already tell us apart?” Rose asked skeptically.

“Oh, aye. You’re as different as sun and moon, aren’t ye?” Catriona answered with a smile. The hand holding her fork was still trembling, but she was hoping to mask it.

Lily was not fooled. That was the same way Uncle Phil acted, when he’d come home a couple of years ago to heal from an injury he’d gotten on duty. He’d never told the twins that he was hurt – their mothers had explained it – but he’d had the same air of ‘please pretend everything is all right’ that she felt from Catriona now.

Rose was the more outspoken twin, to be sure, but Lily had even more compassion. She puzzled over how to help Aunt Catriona, without it being obvious what she was doing. Uncle Phil hadn’t liked being fussed over, and she figured Aunt Catriona would be the same way. 

She didn’t solve the puzzle before dessert was over, but she wasn’t going to give up, either.

~ * ~

“I do beg your pardon, Mistress – or rather, Diane,” Catriona was saying, hiding a yawn behind a delicate hand. “It is terribly rude of me to retire so soon after such a sumptuous meal, but I fear my weariness allows for no other choice.”

“Nonsense, there’s no need to stand on formality here. Take her on up to bed, lovey,” she told her son. “I’m sure you have some catching up to do.”

Phil offered his hand to Catriona, who took it gratefully, and the four of them climbed the stairs back to the guest rooms. Catriona paused at her door. “I realize it is terribly forward of me to ask,” she began, and Clint laughed.

“Come on, you need sleep, and you won’t get it in there,” he told her, pushing open the door to the Blue Room. “Do you want to change into something else?”

Catriona looked down at her robe. “Not particularly, but I can.”

Natasha tossed her a pair of lounge pants and a SHIELD t-shirt. “Here. You’ll feel more like a human and less like a celestial beacon.”

With a smile, Catriona slipped into the bathroom to change. Phil fixed his husband with a firm look. “She’s sleeping with us?”

Clint coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have asked Gaia what to do to help her, and apparently when she’s this keyed up, she doesn’t sleep well alone. Nightmares, I guess.”

“Who did she sleep with, before us?” Natasha asked. Clint shrugged.

“I generally just didn’t sleep,” Catriona told them, exiting the bathroom. “It is… not pleasant, to allow myself to become that exhausted, but it was a wiser choice than allowing myself to suffer the nightmares.”

“I didn’t mean for you to hear,” Clint apologized.

She smiled at him fondly. “Aye, but you forget that I know you, dhearthair, and know that you would have asked.”

Phil wondered just what nightmares would be worse than driving oneself into the ground, but didn’t ask. Instead, he shucked out of his jeans, leaving boxers and t-shirt on, and climbed into the center of the bed. “Not sure where you’d like to sleep,” he said apologetically.

Natasha, who had put on actual pajamas in the bathroom, took one side and Clint stood on the other side of the bed, looking at Catriona.

She looked tiny, in Natasha’s clothes – and Natasha wasn’t a tall woman herself. Catriona hesitated. “I don’t know,” she admitted finally.

“Come here, achara,” Natasha said then, and opened her arms to the druid. She maneuvered Catriona between herself and Phil – lying somewhat on top of them, because even king sized beds are tight for four people – and Catriona discovered it was quite comfortable. Clint slid in on Phil’s other side and rested one foot against her – enough for her to feel the connection, but not so much as to make her feel crowded.

Phil’s final thought before drifting off to sleep was how he was going to explain the sleeping arrangement to his parents.

~ * ~


	22. Chapter 22

Natasha awoke first and carefully disengaged herself from Phil and Catriona before slipping out of the bedroom and down the stairs. She could hear activity in the kitchen and headed that direction, hoping for a cup of tea.

Diane was up, rolling out sugar cookie dough and humming Christmas carols. She greeting Natasha with a cheery wave. “You’re up early.”

“I usually am,” she told her mother-in-law. “Phil isn’t usually far behind me, but unless there’s bacon involved we usually have to drag Clint out of bed.” The man had a positively preternatural ability to smell frying bacon – it didn’t seem to matter how far away the bedroom was from the kitchen.

“Can I interest you in a fresh cookie?” Diane nodded towards a plate of baked cookies. “No decorations yet, but they’re still delicious.”

“Not this early, but thank you.” She hesitated to enter the kitchen while Diane was baking, not wanting to intrude.

“What is it, lovey? Coffee?”

“Tea, please,” Natasha said with relief. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

Diane laughed. “Phil’s trained you well, I gather.” She put the kettle on, setting out a mug and measuring tea leaves into the strainer. Natasha was fond of the spearmint blend in the mornings. “It’ll just be a few.”

“I can be patient.”

“I imagine it’s a requirement, in your line of work.” Diane returned to the cookie dough, rolling it out with a precision Natasha recognized – though she was more used to seeing it in SHIELD forms and not in pastry. “You’re welcome to talk about it, if you’d like, but I won’t press,” Diane told her. “I know sometimes it’s a relief to speak of it, and sometimes it’s…not.”

Natasha grimaced. “You’re right about that.” She let her emotions show on her face – something she was becoming accustomed to, around the Coulson family. She didn’t feel the need to hide her thoughts from them. “I don’t talk about the work much. It isn’t… I don’t want to bring it here. I will, if I need to – and your willingness to listen matters. But like Phil, I want this to be a refuge.”

Diane smiled warmly at her. “We’re happy to offer you that, dear.” She poured the boiling water over the strainer and passed the full mug over to Natasha to let it steep.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Natasha said hesitantly.

“Of course.” Diane had moved on to using a candy cane cookie cutter on her smooth dough.

“When did you know that you wanted kids?”

Diane kept her eyes on her task, though she wanted to stare at Natasha in surprise. “I always did. When Alex and I met, it was one of the things we agreed on. It was also important to us that I be able to stay home with them, which meant some sacrifices along the way, but they’ve turned out for the best.” She made a face. “With the possible exception of Megan, who never really outgrew her prima donna phase.”

“But when did you know you were ready?”

“If you wait until you think you’re ready, you’ll never do it,” Diane told her softly. “There’s always some reason you can talk yourself out of it – but that’s just the fear talking. We waited until Alex wasn’t a SHIELD agent, and we’d bought the Inn from his parents – there were plenty of reasons to wait longer, but nothing that we couldn’t work around or through.”

Natasha frowned. She didn’t like nebulous answers like that. She much preferred being able to plan her actions around a defined set of variables. 

“You know, it’s not a requirement,” Diane told her carefully. She was sliding cut cookies onto a pan in preparation for re-rolling the dough. “No one is going to be upset if you never have children.”

“I think… I think I would,” Natasha disagreed, brow furrowed. “But… not until our relationship is public,” she added. “I don’t – I don’t want to go through a pregnancy without being able to count on my husbands in public.”

“Sensible choice,” Diane commended. “It sounds as though you’ve set your conditions already.”

“I suppose I have,” Natasha said with surprise, and sipped her tea. “Thanks.”

“For what, dear?”

“For being… a mom.” Natasha kept her eyes on her mug but felt a blush rising. “For standing in for mine.”

“Anytime,” Diane told her, and resumed her cookie making.

~ * ~

It was lucky, Phil reflected as he lay in bed, that he was not one to wake groggy – because were he, it was entirely possible he’d have groped the wrong redhead.

Natasha had already risen, but Catriona was still tucked in next to him, looking childish in her sleep. Clint was sprawled on his stomach on Phil’s other side, one arm wrapped around Phil’s chest. Carefully, Phil extracted himself from the bed and the grasp of both of them, escaping to the bathroom with relief.

He’d just finished when he heard Catriona whimper.

She had curled in on herself, one hand pressed tightly against her mouth as though to prevent a scream. Her body was rigid and shaking. Phil strode to the bed immediately and picked her up, cuddling her against him. The sudden movement woke Clint, who blinked blearily at him. “What happened?”

“I left to use the bathroom, and she wasn’t touching you,” Phil said, rocking her slightly. She hadn’t awakened and her tremors had not eased. “Catriona, little one, wake up please… you’re frightening us.”

Clint crawled across the bed to add his touch, hoping it would help. She continued to shake, and the noises she was making were growing in intensity. He concentrated, trying to reach Gaia, and realized his receptivity was back to normal after the passing of the solstice. {Sunshine, would you step outside and ask Big Mama how to get Catriona out of one of her nightmares?} Aloud, he said to Phil, “I asked Nat to ask the Goddess how to help.”

The answer arrived moments later in the form of Natasha herself, who strode over to them and, gritting her teeth, delivered a sharp slap to Catriona’s face. The druid woke immediately, tears spilling over onto her cheeks and sobs now coming unrestrained.

Phil sat down on the edge of the bed, cradling her gently. “I’m so sorry, little one, I didn’t think…” Clint and Natasha sat on either side of him, adding their comfort.

It was some time before the tears stopped, before Catriona could make any noise but weeping. She rubbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“We don’t apologize for nightmares,” Clint told her firmly. “We all get them – yes, even Phil – and there is a very strict no apology rule. You didn’t choose to have one, you don’t get to take the blame.”

Catriona laughed weakly, still wiping her face. “Alright. I can’t argue with that, brother.”

“Do you want to tell us about it?” Natasha asked, as gently as Phil had ever heard her speak.

“I dream of the massacres,” Catriona told them, her voice barely above a whisper. “I dream of them after nearly every ritual. I dream of the Romans burning our Groves – slaughtering Gaia’s Druids and their families – I dream of the smell of funeral pyres and the cries of those flung on those pyres still alive.” Her eyes were haunted, no longer seeing the triad still holding her. “I dream of fleeing at Gaia’s command, unable to save my brethren, watching as all but ten of my Brothers in Service were slain by Suetonius on the isle of Mona.”

“You followed your Goddess’s order, achara,” Natasha told her. “You lived at Her behest. You cannot hold yourself to blame for those deaths.”

“Can I not?” Catriona shot back. “Yes, I lived. But for what?”

Clint squeezed her arm tightly. “I don’t know what She had in mind at the time, but I’m extremely glad She saved you – I’d be dead, and so would Tasha.”

It was apparently the right thing to say, because some of the grief lessened in her eyes and she sought out Clint’s gaze, searching it. When she found no pretense, she flung her arms around his neck and buried her head in his shoulder. Phil struggled to keep her from oversetting, but he wasn’t going to interrupt. Whatever it took to ease the haunted look in her eyes, he would begrudge her nothing.

The few tears she wept into Clint’s shoulder seemed to be of the cleansing variety, and when she pulled back she was more herself. “I am grateful for all three of you,” Catriona said softly. “I have not told anyone of the dreams in centuries. I did not know that it would help.”

“We are honored that you could tell us,” Phil told her, lifting her chin so that he could meet her eyes. He seemed satisfied with what he saw there, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Do you feel ready to face the day?”

Catriona sighed. “There is no point in attempting more sleep at this juncture, I am afraid.”

Natasha stood and offered her hand to Catriona. “We’ll dress, and I’ll take you down for breakfast.” She glanced over her shoulder at Clint and Phil. {And you’ll deal with Phil’s crippling guilt before you two come down.}

~ * ~


	23. Chapter 23

“Why aren’t we following them?” Phil asked, when Clint tugged his hand to keep him in place.

“Nat’s orders,” Clint replied. He still wasn’t entirely awake, though the panic he’d felt at being unable to rouse Catriona was certainly an adrenaline rush. “Apparently, I’m to deal with your crippling guilt – her words – before I take you anywhere.”

“I’m not –” Phil began to protest, but Clint glared at him. “Alright.” He held his hands up to ward off the glare. “I didn’t expect her to react that badly – or that quickly.” Phil sat back down on the edge of the bed, heavily.

“You had no way of knowing,” Clint reassured him. “Big Mama didn’t give me any specifics, so I didn’t have any to pass on to you.”

Phil shook his head. “I should have figured it out. Her need for touch, her fear to sleep alone…”

Clint sat down next to him on the bed and slid an arm around the older man’s waist. “Even the famed Agent Coulson can’t know everything,” he said gently, running his thumb along the waistband of Phil’s boxers.

“If you’re trying to distract me with sex, it won’t work,” Phil told him with a sigh. Clint chuckled.

“That a challenge?”

“No, pretty bird.” He turned towards Clint, pressing a tender kiss to the archer’s lips. “I don’t like being the person who brought that much pain to Catriona. I don’t… I don’t know how to make it up to her.”

“She doesn’t expect you to.” Clint returned the kiss just as softly. “She has been dealing with it for a very long time, treorai – long enough that it surprised her that we could bring her out of it, not that she fell into it.”

Phil looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “You developing more telepathy?”

Clint chuckled. “No. Contrary to what the women in my life think, I’m not completely oblivious to nonverbal communication.” He continued the gentle caress against Phil’s side. “I saw her eyes, when they snapped open – after Natasha slapped her. She was shocked – but I don’t think it was the slap. I think it was that she wasn’t alone. She said it happens after almost every ritual – there are at least two a year that I know of, and eight is what’s traditional for the wheel of the year – yes, I’m capable of research – so that’s probably more than ten thousand nightmares in her lifetime. Easily. Maybe a lot more. How often do you think she’s had someone to hold her when she wakes?”

“Not often,” Phil admitted. He rubbed his face, feeling weary – every one of his years and a few more piled on for good measure.

Clint pulled Phil’s hands down from his face, clasping them tightly. “A very wise man told me once that the purpose of guilt was to prevent me from making the same dumbass mistake again.”

“As I recall, ‘dumbass’ is not the word I used,” Phil said, exhaling with a small chuckle.

“I’m paraphrasing. You get to do that, when you quote wise men.” Clint was relieved to hear the humor returning to Phil’s voice. “So, we won’t let it happen again, right? She might not know it, but Catriona’s ours now, and we aren’t going to let her suffer, if we can stop it. And keeping an arm around her through the night is hardly a hardship.”

“You’ll make me jealous,” Phil said drily. “I realize she’s a better armful, but –”

He was silenced by a very thorough kiss, intended to reassure him that while Catriona was lovely, Clint certainly didn’t consider her ‘better.’ Phil let himself relax into the kiss, his arms coming up around Clint, holding him close. “Never doubt that I love you,” Clint murmured into his ear when the kiss ended. “Never.” Surprised at Clint’s fervor, Phil pulled back to meet his gaze. He expected a humorous deflection – or amorous distraction – not the seriousness he saw now. “Natasha is my sun, and you are my moon, and I need both of you as I need the air I breathe,” Clint continued.

“Hopeless romantic,” Phil quipped reflexively, but there was nothing but affection in his tone.

“You’re damned straight,” Clint agreed fervently.

“If I’m straight, we’ve got a serious problem,” Phil said lightly, and Clint laughed.

“Alright. Poor choice of words.” He grinned lopsidedly at his husband. “So, guilt assuaged and love affirmed, can we please go get some coffee?”

~ * ~

Diane had been startled when Natasha had exited to the backyard, and concerned when she’d returned immediately and gone upstairs in what would, in a less graceful woman, have been an unseemly rush. By the time her daughter-in-law returned, she’d worked up quite a head of worry.

“Is everything alright, Natasha? Goodness, Catriona, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Diane immediately put the kettle back on – because really, there were few situations which could not be improved by a cup of tea – and returned her attention to the women.

Natasha flinched at Diane’s choice of words, and put a comforting hand on Catriona’s back. “Nightmares,” she told Diane succinctly. “Flashbacks would probably be more accurate.” Diane eyed the druid, one eyebrow raised, but didn’t inquire further.

“These days, I believe it is called post-traumatic stress disorder,” Catriona said, her voice somewhat hoarse from choked off screaming. “I’ve always preferred the term shell-shock. It conveys the pain better, I think.” She sank onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, Natasha following closely and keeping one hand on her. “You need not worry,” Catriona told her with a small, sad, smile. “I will not fall into one while waking, you need not keep in contact.”

“That isn’t why I’m doing it,” Natasha told her. “If I keep a hand on you, I can keep from feeling like I’ve got to go find someone to murder for making you feel this way.”

Diane chuckled softly, though Natasha hadn’t been joking. She poured hot water into three mugs, passing them across the counter to the other women. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Catriona said, a touch more firmly than she’d intended. She softened her tone. “No, but I thank you for the offer. I have spoken of it to my…” she trailed off, looking curiously at Natasha. “Friends?”

“Family,” Natasha corrected firmly.

“Brothers and sister,” Catriona continued, a small smile creeping onto her face. “It is not something I would burden others with. It is an old wound.” She lifted the mug of tea, closing her eyes to inhale it deeply. “Phil spoke of your use of tea as a panacea – he seemed amused that we would have that in common.”

Natasha picked up her mug as well, her eyes still on Catriona. “She didn’t pull hers out of her sleeve, though. Does that still count?”

Catriona was startled into a laugh while Diane looked confused. “I didn’t know that he’d told you that, achara,” Catriona said at last. She saw Diane’s expression and explained. “When I am in my druidic robe, I carry a satchel of common remedies in one sleeve – it is a most commodious robe. When I first met your son, I treated one of his tension headaches with a sachet of herbal tea. Apparently, it made an impression.”

“Tea that you grew, harvested, dried, and blended yourself,” Natasha added.

Catriona lifted her eyebrows. “Yes. Your point?”

Diane laughed. “I see. Natasha, I respect her abilities quite enough already, you needn’t defend her to me.”

Natasha fought down a growl – she was still feeling inordinately protective of Catriona – and instead managed a polite smile at Diane. “If I don’t brag about her, who will?”

She felt more than heard Phil and Clint join them. Clint headed directly for the coffee pot, while Phil slid onto a stool next to Catriona, slipping his arm around her waist below Natasha’s hand. Natasha rubbed her thumb against his arm, her smile softening as she turned to him. “Feeling better now, loverling?”

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “But did you have to sic Clint on me for my ‘crippling guilt,’ Nat?” Phil asked dryly. 

“Guilt? Whatever for?” Catriona asked, startled.

Natasha sipped her tea serenely. “Some men are just certain that everything must be their fault.”

Catriona frowned at Phil even as she leaned into his embrace. “Whyever would you think that, treorai?”

“I’m the one that left you in bed, not touching anyone,” Phil said quietly. “I felt responsible.” His eyes flickered to his spouses. “I’ve been informed that I’m not to feel responsible.”

“In bed?” Diane repeated.

The triad exchanged glances, and Catriona sighed. “Oh, let me,” she told them. “Yes, in bed. I do not sleep well alone after a ritual – I generally either push myself to exhaustion to prevent the nightmares, or I wake myself after screaming myself hoarse. It seemed… impolite to subject you to that, Mistress Coulson. I neglected to consider that sharing a bed could be… misinterpreted.” She set her mug of tea down and started to stand. “I apologize for disrupting your home. I will take my leave.”

“Like hell,” Phil snapped, his arm tightening around Catriona to prevent her from rising. Diane looked at her son in surprise. “If you want to leave, that’s fine – but don’t go because you think you’re not welcome.”

“He’s right, my dear,” Diane said gently. “I was surprised, but I did not mean to imply that I disapprove. You are by no means the first guest to have suffered from what you call shell-shock. If physical contact is what helps, then that is what you need – and we will provide.” She smiled and reached out to touch Catriona’s hand. “I can set you up in the living room, and the family and I will take turns sitting with you for as long as you need.”

Catriona swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat, and looked down at the hand now on her own. “I should have guessed that the woman who raised our treorai would be as compassionate as he.” She turned her hand in Diane’s so that she could clasp her fingers. “I appreciate the offer, Mistress Coulson, more than you know. It has been…” Catriona trailed off, trying to think when exactly she’d last been welcomed like this, “centuries since last I spent Yule with such a family. It is not necessary, however. Having been roused from my nightmare, it is unlikely to recur at present.”

“Until bedtime?” Clint asked, having imbibed enough coffee to join the conversation. “Or until the next ritual?”

“Likely until the next ritual,” Catriona answered, still anchored in place by contact with Diane, Phil, and Natasha. “Although… I have not been roused from one such in a time, and I do not fully recall if that is the case.”

“Then I’ll sleep with you tonight, sis,” Clint said, stepping behind Natasha to add his arm to the Catriona-cluster. “Nat and Phil can fend for themselves, and you can octopus on me.” At Natasha’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “You got to cuddle with her in Phil’s office… it’s my turn.”

Phil cleared his throat. “Mom, it would be… extremely helpful… if you could explain this to Dad, before he makes any comments,” he asked very delicately. “I don’t want to spend another meal as uncomfortable as when he – well.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want him to inadvertently make Catriona uncomfortable.”

“I’ll have a word with him, dear,” Diane promised. “But only,” she said with mock sternness, “if you stop this ‘Mistress Coulson’ nonsense and call me Diane,” she told Catriona, shaking the hand she still held gently. “I also answer to Mom and Grandma, if you’d prefer,” she offered in a quieter tone, making eye contact with the druid to emphasize her sincerity.

“Speaking of mothers… we should probably step outside and have our morning meditation, achara,” Natasha said to Catriona, nodding to the backdoor.

“Yes,” Catriona agreed, glad that Natasha had seen her emotional overload for what it was. “It will be a relief, to speak with Gaia.”

~ * ~


	24. Chapter 24

Phil stood at the kitchen window, watching as Catriona, Clint and Natasha meditated. He held a mug of tea, and was motionless save for the occasional sip.

“Worried about her?” his mother asked lightly.

He started, having forgotten he was not alone in the kitchen, and rubbed his temple. “Catriona? Partly. I’m always at some grade of worrying about them,” he admitted, gesturing at the three seated on the ground.

“But that’s not what’s got a tension headache brewing,” Diane surmised, tugging his fingers away from his temple. “Too bad I don’t have a handy teabag up my sleeve.”

Phil snorted. “Nat does love telling that story.” His mother crossed her arms and tilted her head, waiting for him to continue. He turned back to the window, eyes on his spouses. “Back in DC, we can’t… be like this. I am Agent Coulson, they are agents Barton and Romanoff. We are professional colleagues – close colleagues, to be certain, but only casual friends. I don’t get to reach out and hold Natasha when I feel insecure – I can’t sneak up on Clint and kiss him senseless. They, at least, have telepathy – but I am outside that.”

“Jealous?”

“Yes and no. I wish that I could have that intimacy with them… but I am somewhat glad that we do not all share our horrors.” His eyes unfocused as he gazed into his own past. “As it is, I can stand as an anchor for them. If Gaia should Choose me at some point, I would accept Her offer… but I respect Her enough not to doubt Her decision.” He smiled crookedly at his mother, sipping his tea. “What’s got me worried is that every time we get away, it gets a little harder to stuff it all back inside the suit.” Phil rubbed his wedding ring with his thumb. “Even with the Goddess’s help – She has some sort of aversion charm on the rings is the best I can describe it – I worry that I won’t be able to be Agent Coulson, handler for SHIELD… I’ll be too busy being Phil, their husband.”

“Someday, son, you may have to choose,” his mother said quietly. “I don’t think that day is today, but you should think about it.”

“I don’t have to,” he answered immediately. “If it’s between SHIELD and my achroi ghra – my soulmates – the answer will never be SHIELD.”

~ * ~

{Phil is overthinking again,} Natasha told Clint when she roused from her communion with Gaia. By mutual consent, they generally spoke to Her separately – it was only certain occasions where they shared the contact. Natasha’s conversations also tended to last longer – whether it was her gender or length of service, it was easier for her to maintain the mental energy. {He’s been watching us since we sat down.}

{Maybe he’s just admiring the view?} Clint kept his eyes closed. It was a very small deception – he preferred everyone believe his contact with Big Mama was as strong as Natasha’s.

{Rubbing his temple,} Natasha added. She let her eyes drift open, stretching in a deliberately provocative manner. Phil didn’t twitch. {Damn.}

Clint stretched as well and rose to his feet, offering Natasha a hand she didn’t need. Catriona was still engaged with the Goddess, and they knew it was safe to leave her here. Natasha let Clint pull her up and used the momentum to latch her arms around him, leaning in to press a kiss on his lips. {Sunshine, there are kids around,} Clint reminded her. {The twins, and Darla wanted to meet Catriona, so her five might be hanging about too.}

Natasha released him with a sigh. {You’re too good at being Uncle Clint.}

They stepped into the kitchen, where Phil greeted each of them with tender but brief kisses. “Darla’s on her way over,” he told them.

“I knew it,” Clint crowed, and Natasha elbowed him.

“They weren’t already here, and the twins have seen us kiss already.”

“You weren't just kissing, love,” Phil told her dryly. “I saw that glint in your eye.”

She mock pouted at him. “I was just trying to help your headache.”

“Headache?” Catriona asked, stepping into the kitchen as well. “Treorai, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Mom’s already treated it with a cup of tea and a kiss,” Phil told her. “I’ll survive.”

The druid drew herself up to her full and insignificant height. “It is my duty to Gaia to heal, and your stubborn pig-headedness will not prevent me from doing so.” She stomped over to him and pressed two fingers against his temple, glaring up at him.

He put up both hands, tea mug still in one, to ward off her gaze. “Far be it from me to prevent you from your solemn duty,” he said solemnly, but his eyes twinkled. When she drew back her fingers, he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Thank you, little one.”

“I do hate it when you call me that,” she grumbled, but there was about as much heat in her complaint as Clint’s objection to ‘pretty bird.’

“Darla – oldest sister – is coming by with her husband and kids,” Phil told her. “They’d like to meet you. Thom is a cousin of Director Fury, but I assure you he is nothing like the Director.”

“Good.” Catriona sniffed derisively. She looked around the kitchen. “Where is everyone else? Is this not the usual congregation space?”

“Usually, but we’ll be in the living room today – gift exchange with Darla’s family. Mom and Dad try to space out the craziness when possible.” Phil set his empty mug in the sink. “Clint, would you run up and grab the bag with the Shepherd clan’s gifts?”

Clint saluted lazily and dashed up the stairs, narrowly avoiding knocking over Sarah, who was carrying a box down them. “No running in the house!” she yelled up automatically.

“Sorry, Laura!” he answered just as reflexively, and then burst into laughter. “Sorry, Sarah!”

“He’s in a good mood,” Sarah commented to her brother as she passed them in the hallway. 

Catriona smiled fondly up the stairs. “Aye, and it’s a pleasure to spend it with him. And with you and your lovely lasses.”

Sarah grinned at her. “I like you.” She gestured with her elbow for them to follow her, and Phil led Natasha and Catriona into the living room.

It was bright, festive chaos. The Christmas tree was newly up, and decorations were spread everywhere. There was a plate of sugar cookies on the coffee table – now adorned with frosting. “Clint’s just excited to hand out gifts,” Phil was saying as the archer followed them into the room, now bearing an honest-to-goodness gift sack.

“Hey, it’s easier to be the most awesome uncle on three salaries than one,” Clint said with a grin, leaning over to kiss Phil on the cheek. “Oh! Cookies!”

Diane, in the midst of adding more ornaments to the garland hanging in the window, laughed. “So today should I count you as one of the children instead of one of the adults?”

Phil, Natasha and Catriona exchanged glances before laughter overtook them. “Hey! I’ll tell Mama you’re laughing at me,” Clint protested, with plenty of humor in his own tone.

“He’s usually one of the children,” Natasha confided. “It’s no wonder you get along so well with them, dearling.”

Catriona smiled and seated herself cross-legged on the floor. “Whilst we wait to be invaded by your other nieces and nephews, treorai – have you news of young Cooper and Lila?” The druid was fond of Clint’s niece and nephew, and had enjoyed the time she spent with the precocious boy.

“I’ve got pictures,” Clint told her, plopping down gracelessly next to her and pulling out his phone. “Lila’s birthday was yesterday – she was born the same day Natasha was Chosen – so there’s frilly dresses and frosting messes.” He handed her the phone, which he was impressed to notice she navigated easily.

“Ah, and such a pretty lassie,” Catriona murmured. “Ah, and there’s my charming lad… dhearthair, you are blessed to have such kin.”

“What is it you called him?” Iris asked. “I don’t recognize it. Gaelic, though, right?”

“Aye,” Catriona agreed. “I call him brother, as I call Natasha deirfuir, for sister. Treorai – which we call Phil – means guide.” She tilted her head up at him as he sat down on the couch behind her and Clint. “I am apt to drop into Gaelic for casual endearments, as well.”

“Like alanna?” Lily asked, entering the room with another box. She handed it to her mother, who gestured that she could go sit with their guests. “Aunt Natasha called us that.”

“Did she now?” Catriona asked, raising an eyebrow at Natasha. “Alanna means child. She will have picked that up from me, I fear, as I use it regularly. You have likely heard us use achara as well, which means friend.”

“And achroi ghra,” Phil added. “Soulmate. Heart love.”

“Yeah,” Rose said with mock sourness. “We heard that one.” She rolled her eyes dramatically as Natasha seated herself next to Phil, one leg pinning Clint to the couch.

Catriona looked up at Phil, who grinned. “Rose and Lily live here, so they’ve spent the most time with us so far. They’re teaching Natasha how to play – which means they’re also teaching her how to be teased.”

Lily snorted. “She already knew that one, with as long as she’s hung around you, Uncle Phil.”

Sarah couldn’t stifle the cackle that bubbled up out of her – and there was no other term for it than a cackle. Iris looked on in amusement as Sarah doubled over, wheezing. “I should make you apologize for that, Lily, but it was too damned true.”

“Language,” Iris reminded her, half a beat before Diane did the same.

“Oh,” Catriona said on a contented sigh. “I like it here.”

~ * ~


	25. Chapter 25

The entire Shepherd clan entered shortly thereafter, bearing gifts and bringing in the smell of impending snow. Diane bustled about getting everyone drinks and cookies, dropping kisses on the cheeks of small children. Catriona and Clint were soon engaged in conversation with nine-year-old Tommy about the merits of the animated Robin Hood and Kevin Costner version – apparently, having an opinion on the best Robin was a requirement as far as Clint was concerned.

Natasha sank into the couch cushions next to Phil, her hand tucked into his, feeling terribly out of place. Even with Rose and Lily nearby – and one of them always seemed to be – she felt like an imposter, a poorly cast actor in an unfamiliar role. She didn’t understand half of the references the family was throwing about – pop culture, she thought, probably Christmas movies and specials that she’d never needed to watch. There’d been no holidays in the Red Room, and she’d never had much fondness for Christmas once she’d joined SHIELD. She and Phil and Clint had exchanged casual gifts over the years, but never with this kind of… pomp.

“Penny for your thoughts, my love?” Phil asked quietly. He had to lean closer to her to make himself heard over the noise of seven children and seven other adults. His eyes meeting hers were understanding and sympathetic.

And damn, if that sympathy didn’t make it worse.

Still, she loved her husbands too much to spoil their enjoyment. She might feel like a stranger in a strange land, but there was no reason to inflict that on her achroi ghra. Natasha opened her mouth to deflect or distract from her own discomfort, and discovered that she couldn’t lie to her husband. She closed her mouth again, shaking her head.

Rose, having watched this, extracted herself from a knot of her cousins and climbed without warning into Natasha’s lap. “This is supposed to be fun,” Rose whispered to her. Phil could hear her, but he doubted anyone else could. “What do you need, for it to be fun?”

Natasha wrapped her arms around the girl’s waist, unspeakably grateful. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. Let’s figure it out then.” Rose summoned her sister with one flick of her eye lashes. Lily clambered into Phil’s lap until both twins could touch Natasha. “Is it too many people?” She waited for Natasha’s response and continued when it was a negative shake of the head. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“No, Rose – this is different,” Lily interrupted. She peered at Natasha thoughtfully, reaching down to touch her aunt’s hand where it was clasping Phil’s tightly. “Is it because this is new?” Lily asked quietly. “No good memories?” Natasha nodded silently. “Bad ones?” She thought about it a moment, but shook her head. They weren’t bad, they just weren’t… good. 

Rose and Lily exchanged another look older than their years, and then Lily settled back into her Uncle Phil’s arms and called out, “I wanna play My Favorite Tradition.”

The hubbub dimmed somewhat, and Diane looked at her granddaughter knowingly. “Alright, Lily-love – why don’t you start?”

Lily reached down to cover Natasha’s hand, out of sight of the others. “My favorite Christmas tradition is when Grandma pretends there aren’t enough cookies for Santa, because Papa eats them all.” There was general laughter, and then Lily pointed at her sister. “Rose next.”

“My favorite Christmas tradition is… watching White Christmas with Mom and Momma in our new PJs on Christmas Eve. Momma next.”

And so it went, around the room – each answer giving Natasha a little more of an idea of how this family celebrated, the small things that mattered to them. When Alex called on Phil, he cleared his throat and answered softly. “My favorite Christmas tradition is… new. It’s being here with everyone.” He squeezed Natasha’s hand tightly, hugged his niece tightly with his other arm. “Clint?”

“Can I say the same one?” he asked lightly, but there was no laughter. Instead, there was a warm… something. “My favorite Christmas tradition – other than pie – is being with people I care about.”

Natasha smiled at him. Most of the family had chuckled at his pie comment, but she knew it was intended only to lighten the emotional admission. “I think playing My Favorite Tradition is my favorite tradition,” Natasha said finally, hugging Rose around the waist. She let go of Phil’s hand long enough to squeeze Lily’s as well. Lily beamed at her. 

“What about you, Catriona?” Diane asked. “Are there traditions from your heritage that you’d like to bring to our celebration?”

The druid smiled. “Aye, but most of them are already a part of your Christmas celebrations. Many of the traditions have been passed down through different faiths. There isn’t anything I’d add to yours, Mistress – Diane. I am grateful to be included.”

Lily stretched one leg out to nudge the druid in the shoulder with her toe. “Wanna make a new tradition?” she asked.

“I would likely be amenable, lass,” Catriona said equably. “What did you have in mind?”

“Auntie Nat said she might be able to talk you into a pedicure. We could make toenail painting our new Yule tradition.”

Catriona smiled up at the girl, letting her smile fall onto Natasha as well. “It seems like a fine idea, alanna.”

~ * ~

Darla managed to edge her way over to Catriona as the redhead debated the merits of Santa Suit Red versus Golden Rings polish with the twins. She propped her own bared feet onto the coffee table and reached for a bottle of Tannenbaum Green polish. “So. You’re absolutely nothing like I expected.” Catriona shot her an amused look as she selected the gold polish. “The look on Phil’s face when he talks about you, I half expected a halo.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Dar,” Phil called from where he was carefully applying red polish to Natasha’s toes. Natasha was painting the youngest girl’s toes pink.

“I’m not, really,” Darla said to Catriona. “He gets all soft eyed. It’s pretty cute.”

The druid smiled fondly at Phil. “I’m rather fond of him myself. It’s nice to know the feeling is mutual.”

“Always, little one,” he replied absently. “Hold still, Natasha, or it’ll look like you’re bleeding instead of festive.”

“You try holding still and painting a five-year-old’s nails at the same time,” she retorted.

Clint took the polish from Catriona and picked up one of her feet. “I have no idea how your heels stay smooth, as much time as you spend barefoot, sis,” he was saying as he rubbed lotion into them. Darla stared at him. “What?”

“You paint nails?” she asked.

“Heck yeah,” Clint grinned. “I usually do Nat’s too, but Phil got dibs today.” He unfolded his legs enough to show her his own toenails – bright purple. Catriona chuckled but didn’t resist his ministrations as he returned his focus to her soon-to-be gold toenails. “I’d wear it on my fingers, too, but it’s against SHIELD regs. They don’t cover toes, though.”

“Aren’t you… concerned about what people say?” Darla managed. 

Clint laughed. “Not about that, no. They can think whatever they want about my nail polish – nothing they come up with will be anywhere close to the truth, so it doesn’t really matter.”

{You really that blasé about it, dearling, or are you putting on a good front?} Natasha asked silently.

{Both. Maybe,} Clint admitted.

“I’ve not indulged in color before,” Catriona told Clint. “I think I rather like it. Perhaps I will have to stop by often enough for you to keep them looking fresh.”

“Anything that’ll lure you in for a hug.” He smiled crookedly at her. “We missed you, you know.”

“I missed you too, brother.” 

“Okay, you use that word, but you’re… way more… intimate… with him than I’d expect,” Darla managed to say finally. She was unprepared for the three-fold glare that was leveled at her, from each point of the triad.

“It is entirely platonic intimacy,” Catriona responded calmly, ignoring the bristling around her. “I have not yet found my achroi ghra, and there are lines I will not cross until I am bound to my heartmate.”

“Can I use you as an example of abstinence for my girls?” Darla knew her incredulity was bordering on rude, but she couldn’t wrap her head around the idea. Oh, Phil had mentioned she’d been waiting for her true love for twenty-three centuries – but absolute celibacy?

Catriona’s gaze fixed on Darla, even as she waved a hand at the triad to indicate she was not upset. “The choice I made is my own, and I would not impose it upon another. I feel no condemnation for those who do not make the same choice, just as I feel no immediate kinship with those whose choice aligns with mine. You are certainly welcome to tell your girls that I have waited, but I will not allow myself to be used as a tool to force them to choose against their nature.”

Darla looked taken aback. She’d assumed that a virginal priestess would be passionate about others following her path… but then the druid hadn’t pushed any other beliefs on them, so why would she this one?

“I think I understand now,” Thom rumbled from across the room. He had their eldest daughter Emily on his lap, helping her paint her toenails. “I get it, why you and Nick don’t get along.”

“Do tell,” Phil prompted.

“You’ll bend over backwards to preserve someone else’s right to make choices, whether you agree with them or not – I’d guess you’d stand for a mortal enemy, if it came down to it.” Catriona inclined her head regally at Thom, acknowledging that he was correct. “Nicky just makes the choice he thinks is right for other people – usually without telling them there is a choice. He’s right often enough that few people buck him – but I’m guessing you’ve seen the results when he’s wrong.”

“I have,” Catriona agreed. “It is not merely that he does not offer the choice – he rarely thinks of the choice at an individual level.” She flicked her eyes to the SHIELD agents. “When he makes a decree, it is after analyzing the situation as a whole, rather than the pieces which make up that totality. I do not believe in ‘the good of the many outweighs the good of the one, or the few.’ I believe that the answer is to find what is good for each soul – that there is no one absolute answer.”

Thom screwed the top back on the polish he’d been holding and blew on his daughter’s toes. “I’d love to sit down with you over a glass of whiskey and hear a whole lot more about this philosophy of yours, your Reverence.”

The druid screwed up her nose, looking unaccountably adorable despite her irritation. “Firstly, I detest being referred to as such – I am far more in the way of an itinerant friar than a holy personage. Secondly – you can keep your whiskey, I prefer tea.”

“But you’re Irish!” Alex exclaimed, drawing all eyes to him. “I thought all Irish drank?” he continued lamely.

Phil sighed. “Dad…”

“I am NOT Irish,” Catriona responded sharply. “Aye, I hail from the land of Eire, which is known now as Ireland – but I am older than both this country and that one. I walked Her green hills before there was ever a king on any of the isles, as I’ve walked them the last two millennia. I am no Irishwoman, Master Coulson. I am a Celt. And as for all Irish drinking…” she shook her head, mouth pursed in a hard, tight line. “Tis a narrow-minded assumption, one held over from centuries of oppression against the peoples of my homeland. I am appalled to hear it here.” She pulled her feet from Clint’s grasp – thankfully, he’d finished the paint job – and stood, her chin lifted defiantly. “Perhaps I have misjudged you.” She turned to Phil, who was regarding her with an expression she could only classify as ‘dumbstruck.’ “Treorai, if you require my assistance, I shall be in the garden, communing with the Goddess.”

“Of course,” Phil managed to answer. 

~ * ~


	26. Chapter 26

Ah yes, Clint thought. There it was – right on schedule.

It wouldn’t be Christmas without at least one fight.

{Should I go after her?} he asked Natasha, stowing the nail polish away. It appeared the mood had broken anyway, so he doubted he’d be called upon to paint another set of toes.

{No.} Even her mental voice was clipped. 

{Uh, Sunshine? I’m not the bad guy here.}

Her tone softened, though her face remained impassive. {Sorry, dearling. No, we should let her cool off. Her reaction was… excessive, and I don’t know why. And I don’t think it would be very nice of us to abandon Phil right now.}

{True.} He rolled his shoulders, fighting the tension that wanted to creep into them, the desire to hunch tighter to make a smaller target.

{No one is going to hit you, dearling,} Natasha assured him. She caught his eyes across the room. {Or if they do, they’ll only do it once.}

From most people, that would be an idle threat – something said to soothe but not to be taken literally. Clint knew, though, that Natasha would cheerful break any hand which struck him – or Phil – and was strangely comforted by that.

Diane had leapt to her feet when Catriona exited the room, and pointed one finger forcefully at her husband and another at the door. It was clear she was going to give him a piece of her mind, but not in front of their grandchildren. Phil dropped his head onto his knee – he’d been contorted strangely to work on Natasha’s toes – and groaned.

“It could be worse,” Darla told him. Sarah had edged closer as well, looking for the first time like the younger sister, and not a mother in her own right. “Remember Christmas ’94?”

Phil chuckled sourly. “Yeah, I do.”

Natasha prodded her husband with one foot, mindful of the polish. “Report, Agent Coulson.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “No, love. No need to drag up ancient history.” The children, who had remained rather wide eyed at all the fuss, were beginning to squabble.

Darla shot him a dirty look but occupied herself wrangling her fussy children. Thom, who had been quiet at Catriona’s pronouncement, looked over at Phil. “Do I need to apologize to your druid?” he asked.

“You?” Phil raised his eyebrows. “I don’t see why. You offered her a drink and she declined – that certainly wasn’t what she was mad about.”

“Well, generally speaking it’s safer to apologize to a lady before she comes up with a reason to be mad,” he said blandly, looking at his wife.

“One of us should speak with her,” Iris said quietly. “There was more than just wounded pride in that speech.”

Clint frowned. “Nat told me to let her cool off,” he argued, looking across at Natasha.

“You remember when she got so upset at the farm, after Laura had her little tantrum?” Natasha asked Clint.

“Uh… no? We went to bed.”

Natasha smiled at him, the tiny twist of her lips that meant she was both amused and feeling superior. “And you didn’t think to eavesdrop? Why, Hawkeye, I’m shocked.” He glared at her. “Catriona got a taste of what intolerance looks like, with Laura – and another one here today, with your father. Or if not intolerance, certainly ignorant bigotry. For all her years, she seems very… naive about that.”

“Not naive,” Phil corrected gently. He ran his hand down Natasha’s ankle just because it was there. “Not with what she’s seen – the nightmares that wake her up.” He didn’t detail those nightmares, not with the children still in the room. Now his touch was to comfort – he wasn’t sure if it was for himself or Natasha. “She just… wants to believe the best of people, and it eats her up when she’s wrong.”

While the adults were arguing about who should go to Catriona, Lily slipped out the door and padded quietly after the druid.

~ * ~

“Aunt Catriona?” Lily asked, very softly, when she stepped onto the back porch. She’d slid into a pair of boots and grabbed a coat from the rack by the door, but it was still cold out. Catriona didn’t seem to notice, sitting cross-legged on the snowy ground, hands on her knees, eyes closed.

Lily walked towards her, not wanting to startle her. Catriona’s eyes opened and for a moment blazed bright with anger, but it faded the moment she recognized the girl. “Did they elect you to brave the lioness?” Catriona asked bitterly, though she lifted her hands from her lap to invite the girl to sit down.

“I snuck out while they were trying to figure out what to do,” Lily admitted. She curled into Catriona’s warmth. 

“Of course you did,” Catriona sighed. “Your heart is bigger than your head, alanna.”

Lily giggled. “So, it’s just like yours?”

Catriona cuddled the girl against her, tucking Lily’s head under her chin. “Is that what you think that was in there? My heart getting ahead of my brain?”

“Well. Papa’s mouth gets ahead of his brain sometimes, so I can kinda understand it,” Lily explained. “He’s not actually mean… but sometimes he says stuff without thinking that can sound mean.” She played with a lock of Catriona’s curly hair. “He said one time that we – me ‘n Rose – weren’t real Coulsons, ‘cause we’re adopted.”

“I hope that he was roundly corrected,” Catriona managed to respond. She wanted to charge back into the house and lambast Alex Coulson for that comment as well, and any number of thoughtless utterances over his years.

“Mom yelled at him, and Momma gave him her disappointed face.” Lily smiled, and Catriona felt it against her shoulder. “Papa said that she had a better disappointed face than Uncle Phil’s old Captain America comics.” Catriona chuckled. “He apologized, and explained. He didn’t mean it like we weren’t real family – because we are – but because we didn’t have the blood connection. He was trying to figure out why me ‘n Rose like so much of the same stuff as the cousins, even though we’re not biologically related.”

Catriona was mildly impressed that the girl knew ‘biologically’, but realized she shouldn’t be surprised at the girl’s precociousness – not surrounded by such a family. “So he was looking at it as a scientist, and the words came out without a Papa filter?” Catriona asked, for clarity.

“Yep. He’s awful smart – I mean, he may run the Inn now but he was a super secret agent like Uncle Phil a long time ago, and he still does some stuff with math and computers that we’re not supposed to know about. He just… forgets sometimes, that we don’t always know when his head’s inside a computer.” Lily scooted around until she could look up at Catriona. “It’s not that he’s mean, Aunt Catriona. He just… well, he’s a boy, and boys do stupid stuff all the time.”

At that, Catriona had to laugh. Trust an eleven-year-old to boil it down to ‘stupid.’ “Oh, alanna m’chroi, not all boys are stupid – just as not all girls are smart! It is generalizations like that which make me a little insane, I fear.”

“You’re not crazy,” Lily corrected. She settled back onto Catriona’s shoulder. “I kinda think you’re the opposite of crazy, but like, you’re so far ahead of the rest of us that we don’t even realize you’re on the same road. Or maybe it’s like a school track, and you’ve lapped us so many times that we think you’re lagging behind, when really you’re like, super far ahead of us.” Then she tilted her head up. “You called me something different that time. What’s it mean?”

The druid chose to let the child change the subject, promising herself she’d consider Lily’s words later. “It is very similar to what you’ve heard before – it means ‘child of my heart.’ It seemed appropriate.”

“I like it,” Lily told her contentedly. “You think they’ll figure out where I am before they send somebody out here to make you not mad?”

Catriona laughed. “I doubt it. Your sister is probably playing interference.” Lily had the grace to blush. “What made you elect yourself, Lily-lass?”

Lily shrugged. “I could tell you weren’t just mad. Grandma wanted to yell at Papa, and none of the grown-ups seemed to see that you were hurt, too.”

She started to deny it, but there was really no point. “I suppose I am.” Catriona tightened her arms around Lily, drawing comfort. “How did you know?”

“Promise not to laugh?” Lily sounded unsure, but Catriona immediately agreed. “I can sort of see… colors… around people. Not all the time, and not everybody, but it tells me how people are feeling.”

Catriona’s eyebrows rose. “Well, Lily-lass, that’s rather remarkable. I’ve not met an empath – which is what one would call that gift of yours – in a number of decades. Does your sister share this ability?”

The fact that Catriona made no expression of disbelief made Lily relax again. “She says no, but I think she might have… something. She thinks it would make people think we’re freaks, so she doesn’t talk about it.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re a freak,” Catriona comforted her. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s quite special, and I’m looking forward to talking to the Goddess about it, and seeing if there is anything I can do to help you use it better… but we don’t have to tell anyone, if you don’t want,” she added quickly. “I can keep a secret.”

“Kinda figured,” Lily said drily. She sounded so much like Phil that Catriona had to chuckle again.

“I’m glad it was you that came out. You’re right, I was – am – hurt. It isn’t… just because of what your Papa said.” She was quiet a moment, letting herself draw solace from the child. “I miss my family.”

“Oh.” Lily wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Given how old Catriona was, it was probably the ‘dead’ kind of missing, and not the ‘gone’ kind. “I’ll share mine.”

Catriona kissed the top of her head. “I know you will, alanna, and that means a great deal to me. But… having lost mine, so many years ago… when I see other families… I want them to be happy. Entirely happy, and not to take each other for granted. To… cherish every moment. It is… it is painful for me, to see a family not be…”

“Perfect?” Lily supplied, when Catriona hesitated. “You do know that nobody’s perfect, right?”

“I know that with my head,” the druid admitted. “My heart is not so sure.”

“Momma tells us that the only one that’s perfect is God – which I guess for you would be Goddess – and pretending that we’re perfect means we think we’re as good as He – or She – is.”

Catriona blinked. “That’s… an interesting notion.”

“Sometimes it helps.”

Sometimes, Catriona thought as she held the girl, cuddles helped more.

~ * ~


	27. Chapter 27

By the time the adults in the living realized that they were one child short, they had also realized none of them were the right individual to talk to Catriona. Phil cornered his father – in a move that was far more Agent Coulson than Phil – and informed him that as it was his exclamation that had precipitated the druid’s departure, it was up to him to adequately apologize to said druid. Alex was surprised enough to be addressed like an insubordinate recruit that he agreed without question.

When Phil stepped out to fetch Catriona, he paused to admire the way that she and Lily were curled up together – neither of them seeming to mind the cold, despite Catriona wearing some of Natasha’s clothes and not her usual robe. “Little one, if you wouldn’t mind coming in, there’s someone who’d like to apologize,” he called from the porch.

Catriona helped Lily up before rising lithely, brushing snow from the backs of her legs. “Of course.”

She sounded calm, Phil noted. Much more in control of herself. Which was a distinct relief, because seeing Catriona angry was not one of his favorite sights, and he hoped he never had to experience it directed at him. “Should have known you’d run out here, imp,” Phil said to his niece, offering his hand. She took it, but kept Catriona’s in her other hand.

“Somebody had to,” Lily told him. If she sounded a big smug, Phil decided to ignore it – she was right, after all. He led them back into the house and to the kitchen table, where his parents were sitting. Natasha and Clint joined them.

“Lily love, I think you should go back to the living room,” Diane said, frowning at her granddaughter.

“It would please me greatly if she would be allowed to stay,” Catriona stated formally. “She is wise beyond her years, and her presence is a great comfort.”

Lily looked between her grandparents and her aunts and uncles. Diane nodded reluctantly, reaching under the table to hold her husband’s hand. “Thank you,” Lily murmured. She seated herself next to Catriona. Clint, Natasha, and Phil leaned up against the wall behind the druid and child, facing his parents.

“I owe you an apology,” Alex began. “As I’m sure any of my family will tell you, I sometimes speak without thinking. It’s one of the reasons I left SHIELD – I don’t have the tact that my son does. I also have no idea where he gets it – no one else in the family has it.” He shot his son a look. Phil returned it with a bland Agent Coulson smile. “I hadn’t realized, when I spoke, that such a generalization was a prejudice. I didn’t realize that it was not just a… popular mythos, like Americans loving baseball and hotdogs. That doesn’t excuse it, but I hope that it explains that I did not intend it as an insult – certainly not at the level of centuries-long oppression.” He rubbed his face with one hand, stopping to drill two fingers into his temple. Catriona shot an amused look at Phil, for it was a gesture he used frequently. “Please accept my apology, for being an insensitive and ill-informed bonehead.”

“I owe you an apology as well, Master Coulson. As your insightful granddaughter pointed out, I was angry for more than your words.” She squeezed Lily’s hand. “You see, I have this terrible habit of believing that families are perfect because they are whole, and together, and living – everything that mine is not. I am afraid that it caused me to react overly strong to your words. Yes, the stereotype of a drunk Irishman irritates me – it has for centuries, and I expect it will continue to do so – but it was less what you said and more that the patriarch of a family I respect would speak it.” Catriona ducked her head, not wanting Alex to see the depth of emotion in her eyes. “I accept your apology, Master Coulson, if you will be so kind as to do the same with mine.”

“It would be my honor.” Alex’s voice was quiet but deeply sincere. He leaned across the table towards Catriona and caught her eye. “If there is anything I have learned, surrounded by wife and children and grandchildren, it is that no one can hurt us so much as family. That I could wound you so easily tells me that my son is right – you are already a part of this family.”

“Thank you.” Catriona dropped her eyes, her voice soft. Lily squeezed her hand in support. 

Alex sat back, regarding the druid and his granddaughter thoughtfully. He could see now why his son was so fond of this woman – and why they were so fiercely protective of her. She had… something. Something childlike, and yet she was not immature – something so rare he couldn’t even put it in words.

When he looked back up at his son, Phil nodded slowly. He’d watch comprehension dawn in his father’s eyes. Phil couldn’t name what it was that made Catriona unique either, but at least now he knew his father saw it.

~ * ~

The remainder of Wednesday afternoon passed with good cheer as gifts were distributed, silly games were played, and cocoa was consumed in prodigious quantities. After much lobbying by Clint, the triad had purchased an armory’s worth of Nerf weapons and ammunition for all five of Darla’s children. The girls were absolutely delighted to have been given weapons as complex as the boys – and Clint had painted each of them individually so that while they were similar models, each was unique to its recipient. (He’d also made a few slight modifications to them – really, it would be criminal not to improve them at least a little.)

Through long-standing agreement, the adults generally did not exchange gifts, so it was with surprise that Phil picked up a package with his name on it in Darla’s precise script. “Dar?” he asked, brandishing the gift.

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Lip,” Darla told him tartly. “It’s a gift, it doesn’t bite.”

He winced, but slid a finger under the tape and unwrapped the gift. “You shouldn’t have—” he began, and stopped when he caught sight of the package’s contents. Nestled inside a box was one of the last three vintage Captain America trading cards he was missing – in mint condition. He let out a long, almost reverent breath.

“Didn’t think you’d mind me bending the rules for that,” Darla said, and her voice was no longer sharp.

“Where?” he asked blankly, eyes still fixed on the card.

“I’ve got connections,” Thom said blandly. 

Phil looked up, still at a loss for words. Clint leaned against him and grinned. “He means thank you,” he said to Thom and Darla. “And I’ll say it too – I love to see him gobsmacked like that.”

Natasha was watching from the floor, where she’d been helping Emily and Grace load and unload their new toys. She didn’t echo Clint’s sentiments verbally, but the look she exchanged with Darla was eloquent enough.

Catriona, with four-year-old Owen on her hip, bent over to kiss Darla’s cheek lightly. “I thank you as well – for his happiness, and for letting me spend time with your bairns – your children.”

“You’re welcome,” Darla said, her smile warm and sincere. “It’s been a pleasure to spend time with you.”

Owen squirmed for his mother and Catriona handed the boy to Darla, still smiling. She brushed her hand through his hair, and for a fraction of a breath, Phil could see the longing in her eyes. It vanished so quickly that he wasn’t certain he’d seen it – but he wouldn’t forget it.

After a deliciously chaotic dinner, the Shepherd family departed for home, and the residents of the Inn sank into the now quiet living room.

“I always forget what it’s like to have all of them here at once,” Diane remarked, her head flung back on the cushion. “And that wasn’t even all of them,” she added with a mock groan.

Alex laughed, sitting down in his favorite armchair. “You love it, and you know it.”

“I do, but it’s always nice when they go home,” she admitted.

“Except us,” Lily reminded her.

“You are home, Lily-love,” Iris said with a smile. “You’re not part of the visiting chaos – you’re part of the permanent chaos.”

Phil sat down sideways on the couch, his legs running the length of it. Natasha settled in between them, her cheek on his chest, and Clint behind her. Catriona examined the position for a moment before deciding to curl up on Phil’s feet, one arm looped around the tangled ankles of Natasha and Clint. 

“Not fair,” Rose complained. “I want Auntie Nat cuddles too,” she told her uncles. “You get her all the time.”

Natasha didn’t protest, just chuckled. “I’ve only so much room to touch, alanna.”

Lily pursed her lips, thinking. She dashed out of the room and returned with two rolled up sleeping bags, which she opened and spread, one on top of the other, in front of the couch. Then she sat down on them, turned to face the TV, and waited.

It took about ten seconds for Rose to join her, and Catriona curled up with them almost as quickly. Phil, Clint, and Natasha moved easily onto the floor, still tangled together, while Phil’s parents watched with amusement. Sarah stood up from her chair to put a DVD in the player, and then sank onto the makeshift mattress as well, tugging one daughter close and offering her hand to her wife. Iris sat down next to them.

By the time the first notes of ‘Welcome Christmas’ were playing, Alex and Diane had moved to the couch behind them, and all eight adults and two children were soaking up the simple comfort of being together.

The world outside the Inn could wait – at least until after the Grinch’s heart had grown three sizes.

~ * ~


	28. Chapter 28

Phil hadn’t really kept track of how many movies they sat through, but by the time he roused himself enough to consider going up to bed, Catriona and the twins were asleep, and the rest didn’t look far behind them. His parents had apparently gone up already – he’d must have been half dozing himself, not to hear them leave. He considered just staying on the floor, curled up with his loves, sisters and nieces… but he was aware enough of his own body to know it would much appreciate an actual mattress for its middle-aged bones.

He nudged Natasha. “Bed?” he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the children.

She stifled a yawn and turned in his arms to face him. “Is that a suggestion or an invitation, loverling?” she asked. She had that delicious, drowsy sound that he knew was for he and Clint alone – that moment of weakness where she let them see her humanity and fragility.

“Both.” Phil leaned in to kiss her, letting her draw him closer until they had to break for air, foreheads pressed together. “Invitation, definitely,” he amended.

Clint chuckled sleepily. “Help me get Catriona up to bed, and you two can have your fun. I’m wiped from playing with the kids all day.”

“You sure?” Natasha asked. She’d meant it to be silent – she didn’t like to remind Phil that she had her own insecurities – but she was too relaxed for the focus telepathy took.

“I’m sure,” he reassured her, pressing a kiss to her cheek – which had the advantage of putting Phil’s cheek within reach as well. He nuzzled for a moment, savoring the touch, before pulling back and yawning hugely. He gathered Catriona in his arms – both Natasha and Clint watched appreciatively as his biceps flexed – and they rose to follow, steadying him on the stairs up. He turned into the Green Room after another gentle kiss. “Sleep well,” he murmured. 

Phil and Natasha continued into the Blue Room, stripping off various items of clothes as they went, heedless of where they dropped. Natasha yawned as well, sinking onto the bed and looking at him with heavy eyes.

As usual, Phil had to fight self-consciousness as she watched him undress. Even the knowledge that she was not as young as she looked didn’t make him feel like any less of a poor specimen, in comparison. Nevermind even comparing to her – all she had to do was look at him next to Clint, and all his flaws would jump into sharp relief.

“Stop thinking about it,” she murmured. “I love your body. All of it, as it is.” She extended a hand and he stepped to her automatically, cupping his hands around her face.

“I love you to distraction, Natasha Romanoff.” He leaned down and kissed her thoroughly. She smiled into the kiss.

“Perhaps one day, you can call me Natasha Coulson,” she whispered against his lips. Phil’s breath caught. She pulled back, looking up at him in concern.

“You surprised me,” he admitted. “I… didn’t think you’d want my name. What about Clint? Don’t you want his name?”

Natasha reached for him again, tugging him until he stood between her knees and she could kiss his chest easily. “Look at your family, loverling, and look at his. If it weren’t for Laura and the kids, I doubt he’d keep the name himself – but someday, I want us all to be Coulsons.” She reached up to caress his face, smiling. “And any potential theoretical possible offspring as well,” she added.

“Does Clint know this?” Phil managed to ask. He felt a little weak in the knees but didn’t want to move from where he was.

“Of course.” She scooted back on the bed, patting the mattress beside her for him to crawl on. “I’m fairly certain he’d made up his mind about it when he first met the twins.” He obeyed her gesture, sliding onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow to stare at her. “Why is that so surprising?” Natasha asked, slipping into a prone position as well, letting her body rest against his in an effort to alleviate his sudden tension.

“After today? After my Dad being an idiot, and my sisters being pushy, and the kids crawling all over you for hours?” His voice had risen, but she shushed him with one finger and another tiny, private smile.

“After watching your father apologize and accept Catriona as family – after hearing your sisters express concern and love for you – after being welcomed eagerly into play by your nieces and nephews – yes, Phil.” Natasha cupped his check with her hand, letting her usual stoicism drop away so that he could see fully her expressions and emotions.

He was… humbled. It was so rare to see her this way – though this trip had shown him more of her inner workings than he’d ever seen before. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words would come. Instead, he covered her hand with his own and closed his eyes. “Is Clint listening?” he asked after a moment to compose himself.

“Yes.” He felt her lean in closer, pressing her lips to his forehead. “This didn’t seem the kind of conversation he’d want to miss. Telepathy is handy at times.”

“Someday,” Phil began, having to clear his throat twice before the words would come, “Someday, I will stand before the Goddess and any who will listen and name you Natasha and Clint Coulson, my beloveds,” he vowed. 

{And co-parents?} Clint asked hopefully.

“And co-parents,” Natasha agreed aloud, and Phil’s eyes snapped open. “Someday – when we can be a family in public – someday, I want children with my husbands.”

He searched her face and, finding no hesitation or deception, he leaned back into her to press his lips against hers, cupping her head in his hand, trying to convey with touch everything that he did not have words for. He wasn’t sure if the wetness against his hand was her tears or his, but it didn’t matter. “Merry Christmas, my loves,” he whispered when they separated.

“Merry Christmas, loverling,” Natasha murmured. “And Clint says Merry Christmas, Moonbeam – please tell me he’s joking.”

Phil laughed. It didn’t break the spell, just dimmed it a little, and he was able to cradle Natasha against him, running hands absently along her skin. “He isn’t, but he hadn’t said it like that yet. Apparently you’re his sun and I’m his moon.”

Natasha smiled. “Hopeless romantic.” She canted her body against his, sliding just enough to remind him that they were naked in bed. 

“Evil minx,” Phil teased, but turned his attention back to more sensual delights.

~ * ~

There would be many Christmases to come, and gifts both physical and intangible, but Phil would look back at that quiet day, three days before their first Christmas together, as the best Yule gift his loves ever gave him.

~ * ~


End file.
